The train rolled into Paris under a low, grey sky.
Étienne Moreau adjusted his coat collar against the cold and peered out the window.
"So," Renaud muttered, dragging his bag.
"You think Paris has better food than what we ate in the train."
Moreau gave him a dry look. "I'm just hoping Paris still has food. Last time I visited, everything tasted like it had been cooked during the Franco-Prussian War."
Renaud smirked. "Probably why they want us back. Culinary recon."
As the existed The train they realised one thing.
Paris should have been bustling by now, cafes spilling over with noise, pedestrians crowding the platform.
Instead, Gare de l'Est felt hollow.
Troops stood still along the platforms rifles slung across their shoulders, eyes scanning the passengers with hollow vigilance.
Renaud leaned in beside him, whispering, "Feels like we just arrived in a city under siege."
Moreau nodded slowly, eyes narrowing. "Something happened. Something big. Is this a coup?"
