Read Chapter 25: The Warning

The radio in Victor’s hands crackled with static, then a voice cut through—clear, professional, unmistakably official. The French national broadcast, relayed through some pirate repeater, filled the commandeered concierge room where they’d gathered.

“—in the interest of national security, the government has confirmed that the coordinated blackout is the work of foreign state actors. The intention is clear: destabilization. As such, a full quarantine perimeter around the Île-de-France will be established within forty-eight hours. All movement out will be strictly prohibited. Military checkpoints are already being erected. Citizens are ordered to shelter in place.”

The room went silent. The only sound was the faint hum of the shortwave’s battery pack.

Victor reached over and killed the broadcast. “Well,” he said, leaning back. “There it is.”

Camille’s chest tightened. “Quarantine,” she repeated. “That’s not protection. That’s a lockbox. They’re not sealing us in to save us—they’re sealing us in so whatever happens in here doesn’t leak out.”

Julien stood by the window, arms crossed, staring at the dark rectangle of the northern skyline. “It changes everything. If the city is sealed in two days, we don’t have the luxury of a cautious route. We go now, we go fast, or we don’t go at all.”

Léa, propped on a cot with fresh bandages over her shoulder, shook her head weakly. “You don’t understand. If they’re claiming foreign actors, then the narrative is already written. Whoever is behind this—whoever controls that tower—they wanted the government to take this exact posture. It’s not just a power play. It’s a distraction.”

Victor’s eyes narrowed. “From what?”

“From the fact that power is still available,” Léa said. “To certain people. Inside certain buildings. The blackout wasn’t total destruction. It was selective. And the government knows it. They’re going to quarantine so no one outside Paris figures out that the capital became a cage with a few very comfortable cells.”

Camille processed this. Everything they’d fought for—the block, the neighbors, the tiny fragile community she’d built—was about to become an official disaster zone. Sealed. Forgotten.

“Then the choice is simple,” she said. “We don’t stay to be forgotten. We get to Saint-Vincent, we decode the chip, we find the control tower, and we turn the lights back on before the quarantine is complete.”

“That’s a two-front war,” Julien said. “We have one day of darkness left before they slap walls around everything. If we leave now, we might make it. If we leave now, we abandon the building to whatever the convoy brings. And we haven’t even examined the body.”

“The body can wait its turn, Julien.” Victor’s voice was flat but not dismissive. “Whatever the firefighter confirms, it won’t help us if we’re trapped inside a sealed city. The data chip is our only real lead. And Saint-Vincent is our only key. We move tonight.”

“No,” Camille said. Her voice was quiet but absolute. All eyes turned to her.

“I’m not leaving the building unprotected while sixty people upstairs have no idea what’s coming. If the quarantine is real, the soldiers won’t be the only ones arriving. There will be desperate people. Armed people. People who know the city is about to become a dead pen. We hide, and we become prey. We leave, and we become casualties. The only answer is to do both—and that means we split.” She looked at Victor. “You journey north with Julien and Léa. You know the terrain, you know the checkpoints, you know the tower. I stay here. I hold the building. I prepare the community for whatever comes through that perimeter.”

Julien stared at her for a long moment. Conflict flickered in his eyes, but he didn’t argue. He crossed the room and stood in front of her, close enough he could drop his voice so only she heard. “If you stay, you’re betting you can survive whatever breaches these walls. That’s not a small bet.”

“I’ve been betting on this building since the lights went out,” Camille said. “I’m not stopping now.”

From the doorway, a young runner—one of the block kids they’d sent to watch the perimeter—burst in, breathing hard. “Engines,” he gasped. “North. Close. Maybe five minutes out. Convoys—three trucks, heavy ones.”

Victor swore. “They moved faster than we calculated. We don’t have dawn. We don’t have hours.”

Julien moved fast, grabbing his pack from the corner. He pointed at Victor, then at Léa. “We move now. Side exit, through the basement, out the service alley.” He looked at Camille one last time. “You hold them. We’ll bring back the dawn.”

He was out the door before she could answer. Victor hoisted Léa’s arm, steadying her as she limped after them.

Camille stood alone in the quiet room, the shortwave still crackling faintly, the distant growl of engines growing louder beyond the walls.

Forty-eight hours, she thought. And we have maybe five minutes.

She turned toward the stairwell and went up to wake the building.