Michou stared at her reflection in the school bathroom mirror.
She adjusted a strand of hair, but her mind was elsewhere.
For three days now, it felt like she had been chasing a shadow.
Yvan was there… physically.
But his mind? Locked behind a reinforced door.
She stepped out and joined Jecolia and Lynn near the lockers.
— So? Jecolia asked quietly. Did he reply?
— "See you tomorrow." That's it, Michou sighed, slipping her things into her bag. No "sorry," no explanation for Sunday. Nothing.
— Mélo's the same, Jecolia added, frowning. He sent me a meme at 2 AM, but when I asked if he wanted to review for the Spanish oral this afternoon, he said he was "busy with his mom." His mom has never needed him this much in three years.
Lynn, usually the most carefree of the group, crossed her arms.
— They're hiding something. And it's not some game console or a surprise for us. Sunday, at the Tuileries… I saw Yvan looking at some guy in gray like he wanted to kill him. Then two minutes later, he was serving us strawberries with that perfect-son-in-law smile. It was creepy.
A knot tightened in Michou's stomach.
She liked that mysterious, protective side of Yvan…
But the wall was getting too high.
— What drives me crazy, Michou continued, is the money. Did you see the sushi bill? Yvan didn't even blink. He said it was his "uncle," but what kind of uncle gives that much money to a high schooler for sorting boxes?
— Maybe he's dealing? Lynn said, half-joking.
— Yvan? Never, Michou cut in—too quickly. He's too… structured for that. He hates disorder. No… it's something else. Something bigger.
They walked toward the school exit.
In the distance, the black Audi RS6 was parked a little further down the street.
Yvan and Mélo leaned against the door, talking quietly.
They looked like businessmen on a break…
not two teenagers who had just finished their exams.
— Look at them, Jecolia murmured. It's like they own the street.
Cheryle suddenly appeared behind them, making them jump.
She wore that same enigmatic smile, her eyes fixed on the boys.
— You girls think too much, she said lightly—too lightly. Just enjoy the free restaurants and the fact that they're good-looking. The rest… is just details.
— Details that exclude us, Cheryle, Michou replied, locking eyes with her. You seem to know more than we do. You were with them Sunday when they started acting weird.
Cheryle shrugged, unfazed.
— I just see better than you, that's all. Come on… we have a "formality" to handle with them, right? Michou… didn't you want to ask Yvan something?
Michou took a deep breath.
She had made her decision.
She was going to test him.
If his "uncle" was really that rich… if his "logistics job" was really that demanding…
Then he wouldn't be able to refuse this—
not without exposing himself.
They walked toward the boys.
Yvan looked up.
Their eyes met.
For a fraction of a second…
she saw it.
Fatigue.
And something deeper.
A quiet, crushing sadness.
Then the mask snapped back into place.
— Hey, girls, he said softly. Ready for lunch?
— Yvan, I've been thinking, Michou cut in, ignoring the invitation. My aunt is hosting a charity gala this Saturday. It's very selective—art collectors, influential people… She gave me two invitations. I thought it could be a change from our usual outings… and maybe help you relax from your job.
She held his gaze.
This was a trap.
A charity gala was the worst possible place for someone tied to the black market.
Too many eyes.
Too many connections.
Too many risks.
Yvan went silent.
Next to him, Mélo stopped smiling.
— A gala…? Yvan repeated slowly.
His mind was already running.
Too clean.
Too public.
Too dangerous.
Refusing would raise suspicion.
Accepting…
could expose everything.
He looked at Michou again.
She wasn't just asking.
She was searching.
— Sounds fancy, Mélo muttered under his breath.
Yvan exhaled slowly.
For once… there was no perfect move.
Only consequences.
— …Alright, he finally said.
Mélo turned sharply toward him.
— I'll come.
Silence.
Michou blinked, surprised.
She hadn't expected that.
— Really? she asked.
— Yeah, Yvan replied calmly. Why not?
But behind his composed expression…
the decision had already been made.
If two worlds were bound to collide anyway…
Then he would step into hers.
And control the explosion.