Shadow Lancelot

Chapter 2: Dialysis Mode: Active

Creak—

The heavy oak door groaned, followed by the rhythmic thud of polished leather soles. Julian Vance stepped into the foyer. At this hour, Arthur de Molay and his wife Adelaide were still at the Milice headquarters. Only the housekeeper, Madame Claire, and the cook, Marie, were present.

"Monsieur Vance, you’ve been resting quite a while today. Are you feeling unwell?" Madame Claire paused her dusting, offering a polite but watchful smile. Julian gave her a cold, expressionless nod and walked straight toward the exit.

"The Citroën is ready, Monsieur," she called after him. "After you pick up young Elodie from the Lycée, don't forget the bouquet you ordered from the florist. A few flowers might soften Madame Adelaide's heart."

In Julian’s inherited memory, Claire had always been motherly toward him, often fretting over his cold marriage. But as he stepped past her, the glasses on his bridge hummed to life.

[Dialysis Mode: Psychological Insight Defaulted.]

(Claire: Lancelot... your life depends on this final screening. That flower shop is crawling with Milice agents. Don't slip up.)

Julian’s heart hammered against his ribs as he climbed into the black car. My God, he thought, this isn't just analysis; I'm reading their very souls. And the flower shop... it’s a trap?

He gripped the steering wheel. If the shop was exposed, Guinevere was walking into a noose. He had to warn her, but as he pulled onto the main boulevard, he caught the glint of a tailing car in his rearview mirror. Damn you, De Molay. This isn't a screening; it's an execution.

He drove toward the Lycée. He couldn't go to the shop alone; he needed a shield. In this world, De Molay’s only weaknesses were his nieces, Adelaide and her younger sister, Elodie.

Half an hour later, he pulled up to the curb. Elodie was waving goodbye to her schoolmates. With her short bob, wool school coat, and a rebellious spark in her eyes, she hopped into the passenger seat before Julian could say a word.

As he drove toward the florist on Rue de Seine, the silence in the car was heavy—but the text scrolling across his vision was anything but silent.

(Elodie: Hmph. Not going home? What’s the "Gigolo" up to now? No wonder my sister hates him. He’s a refined coward living off our uncle's blood money. Wait... is he taking me to see a mistress? You scoundrel, just you wait until I tell Adelaide.)

Julian nearly winced. This girl looked like a porcelain doll, but her inner monologue was a razor.

They arrived near the shop. Julian parked ten meters away. "Wait here, Elodie. Madame Claire ordered some lilies for your sister. I’ll be right back."

Julian stepped out, his eyes scanning the surrounding cafes and alleyways. Even with his modern training, he saw nothing. The Milice had sent their best "shadows." He entered the shop, Elodie trailing behind him like a spy in training.

The shop smelled of lavender and damp earth. A woman with striking, arched eyebrows and an elegant floral dress looked up. This was Margot LeClerc, known to the SOE as Guinevere.

"Sir, how can I help you?" she asked with a practiced smile.

(Margot: The drop time has passed. What is Julian doing? Why did he bring the girl?)

"The name is Vance," Julian said, his voice steady. "I’m here for the order I placed."

"Ah, Monsieur Vance," Margot said, her smile faltering for a fraction of a second as she checked a ledger. "I am so sorry. The arrangement of twelve white and thirty-six red roses you requested is out of stock. I only have eight white and twenty-four red available. I can substitute them for you, but it will take a moment."