The raid on the Garden of the Damned made headlines by dawn.
Of course, not by name. The official reports spoke of a "rogue gathering of oligarchs" disrupted by "an anonymous tip." But the truth pulsed beneath the lines—poisonous and undeniable.
Vivienne D'Aragon was becoming a ghost story the elite could no longer ignore.
Inside the safehouse in Vienna, she sat in silence. Rain tapped the windows like an impatient clock. Julien's voice echoed through the speakerphone.
"We confirmed the drive from Volkov. It contained partial banking routes, blackmail logs, coded client records. Enough to trigger thirty international warrants."
"And Valentin?" Vivienne asked.
Julien hesitated. "Vanished. Just before the strike."
She clenched her jaw. "He always knows. Someone tipped him."
Damien leaned against the wall, arms folded, eyes shadowed. "Or he's watching us."
Julien interjected, "He's not God, Viv. He's just a man. One with more rats than most."
Vivienne stood and paced, her heels clicking against the tile. "Then let's smoke them out."
---
They traced the breach to Prague—a signature buried in the upload packet to Julien's server. Not just a leak, but a mark. A warning.
A name written in digital ink: C.A.M.I.L.L.E.
Damien frowned when he saw it.
"Camille? As in—"
"Yes," Vivienne said coldly. "As in the woman who trained me."
Camille Moreau. Ex-mentor. Former assassin. Now a ghost operating in the underworld's grayest spaces. No allegiances, no morals. Only contracts and results.
"She's working with Valentin?" Damien asked.
"She's working with whoever pays most," Vivienne replied. "Which means Valentin's getting desperate."
Julien spoke again. "Do you want her found?"
Vivienne didn't hesitate. "No. I'll find her myself."
---
They traveled to Zurich next, the last place Camille had surfaced—disguised as a diplomat, laundering art for information.
Vivienne knew exactly where to go.
A private gallery beneath the opera house, where the paintings were hung with gold and shame. The kind of place where silence was bought and sold like silk.
Inside, she moved like smoke, Damien close behind. Every step was deliberate. Every glance, measured.
They reached the back room—cold, candlelit, and scented with old paint and newer lies.
Camille was already there.
She stood before a painting of Icarus, arms folded, dressed in a red coat and heels like stilettos. Her black hair had a silver streak now. Her eyes were ice.
"Ma petite faucon," she purred. "Still chasing flames, I see."
"Still selling out anyone who trusts you," Vivienne replied.
Camille smiled. "You learned well."
Vivienne approached, slow and unflinching. "Did you warn Valentin?"
"I warned someone. Who they passed it to… is none of my business."
"You left your signature."
"I wanted you to know it was me."
"Why?"
"Because I wanted you angry. You think clearly when you're angry."
Damien scoffed. "That's debatable."
Camille ignored him. "You want information, yes?"
Vivienne nodded. "I want Valentin's real base. The one not on any records. The place he vanishes to."
Camille sighed. "Always the hard questions."
She reached into her coat and pulled out a folded paper.
"Corsica. A fortress buried in the cliffs outside Bonifacio. Accessible only by sea or air. Built after the riots of 2012. They call it La Gueule Noire—The Black Maw."
"Coordinates?" Vivienne asked.
Camille handed her the paper. "Memorize. Then burn it."
Vivienne took it, then paused. "Why help me?"
Camille's expression softened—just slightly. "Because I remember when you believed in redemption. And because the man you're hunting… destroyed someone I once loved."
She turned away. "And I'd like to see him bleed."
---
Later, back in the safehouse, Vivienne stared at the paper burning in the fireplace. Flames consumed the ink slowly, curling the edges into ash.
Damien handed her a glass of brandy. "Are you sure you can trust Camille?"
"No," Vivienne said. "But I can trust her hatred."
She turned to face him, the firelight dancing in her honey-brown eyes.
"We're going to Corsica," she said.
Damien nodded. "What happens when you find Valentin?"
Vivienne's voice was soft, but certain.
"I write my name in crimson."