Chapter 3: Old Friends Reunite

Rain drummed the café's plate-glass window, seventh arrondissement. Fine, hard rhythm, monotone, set teeth on edge. Matthias sat in the corner shadow, fingertips absently circling the warm cup. Condensation beaded down his fingers, soaking the old scar at his knuckle. Air reeked of bitter espresso and wet rain — a sour sedative for his frayed nerves. He shut his eyes, trying to steady the aftershock of death-return, that half-beat cardiac stop then violent restart still lodged in his blood. Marcus's trembling back as he left burned in memory; the blood-oath mark hidden in the canvas fold stuck like a thorn in the old banker's pride, and pierced Matthias's carefully built safe zone.

Matthias opened his eyes, gaze sweeping the corner as if he could pierce the rain, see the Louvre vault door being pried open. Tonight, he knew, Paris had more than one sleepless soul. Rain swallowed the crunch of wheels on cobblestone, and the city's hidden breathing. The broken blade still pressed his hip, cold metal reminding him the true hunt had only begun. He sipped. Bitterness exploded at the root of his tongue, burnt off the last of sleep.

Deep beneath the Louvre now, Victor, gray hooded coveralls, slid through the ventilation duct like a great gray rat. Dust lined the shaft, scritched against his clothing. His breathing was feather-light; each step landed on a preset safe point, dodging the metal seams that creak. A famed old thief, he raced time and outplayed security systems. Tonight's job was no painting — a seemingly ordinary frame key. Locked in the deep compartment of a climate-controlled case, it was the sole token linking black market to old aristocratic secrets. Under his gloves, the fingerprint sensor wore a nanocoating; the security infrared zones were just blinking weak points, prey under night vision. He leaned to the cabinet, drew a special decoding chip, fingertips trembling — adrenaline. Inside this iron fortress of history, he would pull off a silent heist.

The instant the decoder was about to bite the lock, cold air seeped from the duct's dead corner. Victor spun. Matthias stood in dim emergency light, hands in pockets, loose as if inspecting his own study. Between them sat a folded repair workbench; the lamp carved heavy shadow on Victor's face and lit the chill appraisal in Matthias's eyes. Victor's fingers froze above the lock. Sweat ran from his temple into his gray collar, a sharp cold. He didn't run — here, there was nowhere. Slowly he straightened, a wan, feverish smile crawling up, trying to mask fear with familiarity.

Matthias pointed: "Old friend. You're slow. Age catching up."

Victor rubbed his fingers, voice low: "Herr Matthias. I'm cataloging repatriated artifacts. Commissioned by Miss Sofia."

Matthias narrowed his eyes: "Sofia? That idealist curator wouldn't send a thief for keys at midnight."

Victor gave a bitter smile: "Nowadays, lines blur."

Matthias stepped forward: "Put it down. The decoding chip in your pocket too."

Victor shielded his chest: "Personal property. Professional integrity."

Matthias sneered: "Professional integrity? You mean hawking the EU's cultural heritage as underground bargaining chips?"

Matthias pried a folded paper from Victor's coat — a seemingly proper commission letter. He didn't open it. He held it to his nose, ran a finger across the surface. The texture was wrong, rough, lacking the sleekness of modern fine paper. He looked up, eyes like knives: "This fiber weave is special archival paper, discontinued in Brussels three years ago. Sofia's office never ordered this stock. You're lying, Victor."

Victor's face drained. No more mask. He slammed Matthias into the wall, voice ragged: "Elena hired me. She wants to test your limits — see if you're really just a painting restorer. 'Contracts outlast promises,' but in this trade, profit rules. She needs this key to forge a painting's provenance, then blackmail Marcus."

Matthias leaned against the cold wall, mouth curling: "Elena's reach is long — even into the Louvre's basement. But she forgot one thing. This key belongs to no one."

Matthias straightened his collar, his tone shifting back to a calm, professional register. "Let's make a deal. You hand over that key, I let you go, and I drop the trespassing charge. In exchange, I inspect its material. If it's genuinely forged using ancient methods, maybe the story has another version."

Victor hesitated for a moment, then pulled a silver key from his waist and tossed it onto the folding table. Under the lights, the key cast an eerie metallic sheen. Its design was archaic, yet it bore no signs of wear from the passage of time.

"I hope your judgment is sound, Matthias. After all, the value of my life in euros depends on what you do next."

Matthias picked up the key. With his other hand, he drew the broken sword from his coat. The tip was short and sharp, gleaming with a cold, blue light. He didn't slice directly. Instead, he gently pressed the tip against the interior of the key's lock mechanism, rotating his wrist slightly. A crisp "ting" rang out.

The sound echoed in the vast, empty warehouse, unnaturally clear, lacking the heavy resonance expected of ancient bronze or silver. Matthias frowned, striking it again at a more oblique angle. The tip of the broken sword probed deep into the core of the lock, hitting a tiny void. A strange, hollow sensation followed. He set the sword down and ran his finger along the key's edge. He found no microscopic scratches that would indicate hand-polishing.

"Hollow inside," Matthias said flatly. "It's a high-precision 3D-printed titanium alloy, sintered from powder. Not ancient casting, and not even a contemporary refinement. This is the latest counterfeiting tech on the black market. Elena saved Marcus the cost."

Victor's eyes widened. "What does that mean?"

"It means Elena and Marcus are in cahoots. They need a 'fake key' to prove the painting is a forgery, forcing Marcus to reveal the true secret at the midnight gathering. And I am the most replaceable link in this chain."

Matthias sheathed the broken sword, his gaze sharp as an eagle's. "You were treated as disposable. Elena used your intrusion to create chaos; I was the erroneous variable that needed to be eliminated. Now that variable has been corrected."

Victor suddenly surged forward, lunging for the broken sword. His movement was swift, driven by the instincts of a long life on the run. Matthias sidestepped, using the edge of the folding table as a pivot, and stomped on Victor's knee. Victor screamed, collapsing to the ground. Matthias leaned over him, pressing the tip of the sword against his throat. The cold metal rested against his fever-hot skin.

"You lost, old friend. Outside the rules, I am the hunter."

Victor looked up at Matthias with despair. "You'll ruin Sofia. She's innocent..."

"She's not innocent. She's a pawn. And you are the pawn about to be discarded."

Just then, rapid footsteps echoed from the end of the corridor, accompanied by the clang of metal and the wail of sirens. Blinding white light flooded into the dim warehouse, momentarily dazzling everyone. Sofia stood in the doorway, followed by two officers wearing the badges of the European Union police. Her face was pale, but her eyes held a resolute gleam.

Sofia pointed at Victor, her voice trembling but firm. "Victor Herbst, you are suspected of illegal entry and theft of national cultural relics. You are under arrest."

Matthias released Victor, stepping back half a pace to let Sofia approach.

Sofia crouched down, looking at Matthias with cold severity. "Mr. Matthias, please cooperate with the investigation. You have an obligation to provide key testimony."

Matthias smoothed his wrinkled shirt and spoke softly. "I will only state the facts, Ms. Sofia. How you classify them is a matter for the law."

Sofia fastened the handcuffs on Victor. Her gaze swept over the broken sword, then to Matthias, and finally settled on the 3D-printed key. Everything was said without a word.

The iron doors of the police van slammed shut, severing the chill of the warehouse. Matthias stood alone, his fingers tracing the cheap plastic key. A mocking smirk curled at the corner of his mouth. Sofia's "resolution" was not born of justice, but of a second layer of insurance set by Elena—using legal means to launder internal intelligence and pushing Victor into the abyss.

His phone vibrated in his pocket. The screen lit up with a text message from an unknown number, attached with an X-ray photo of Sofia receiving an injection backstage and a set of coordinates. Matthias narrowed his eyes. The broken sword grew hot in his palm. He realized this was not just a trial, but the signal that the hunt had begun. He turned and walked into the rain. Behind him, the flashing police lights blinked like bloodshot eyes, carving eerie trails of light through the darkness.