Elara and Laurent's escape from the Bibliothèque Nationale was a desperate, clandestine affair. They avoided the main entrances and instead used Laurent's knowledge of the museum's 19th-century infrastructure. They descended to the lowest boiler room, a hellish, echoing space of steam and rusted pipes, and slipped out through a forgotten service tunnel that emptied onto a back alley used for rubbish collection.
The sun had risen, bathing Paris in a deceptive golden light. They couldn't use a taxi; Dubois would alert every driver in the city. They moved on foot, relying on the anonymity of the morning commuters. Laurent leaned heavily on Elara, his pace slow, his pain masked by grim determination. Elara kept her head down, her mind hyper-vigilant for any sign of a charcoal suit or a familiar face.
Their destination, the Panthéon, was only a short distance away, sitting majestically atop the Montagne Sainte-Geneviève. Yet, the journey felt endless.
"We need to assume the Argentum Society is already at the Panthéon," Laurent wheezed, pausing in the shadow of a chestnut tree. "They will secure the catacombs and the main foundation access points."
"Then we use a route they won't expect," Elara replied. "You said Vance intended the Panthéon to be the nexus. He must have designed his own, separate access."
The Panthéon loomed before them, its immense dome dominating the skyline of the Latin Quarter. It was a monument dedicated to the city's 'Great Men,' a shrine to human achievement and philosophy—the perfect, symbolic counterpoint to the alchemical Regulator.
They circled the perimeter, avoiding the main portico and the stream of early tourists. Laurent directed Elara toward the eastern foundation wall, an area dedicated to philosophers of the Enlightenment.
"When Dubois interrogated me," Laurent murmured, indicating a large, memorial plaque dedicated to Diderot, "he kept asking about the symbol of the Broken Compass. Vance used it to mark his work when he felt architecture strayed from its ethical purpose."
Elara carefully examined the ornate bronze plaque. . The plaque was beautiful and elaborate, but tucked into the bottom left corner, almost invisible beneath decades of grime, was a tiny, faint etching: a stylized compass rose with its magnetic needle snapped in two—the Broken Compass.
"Here," Elara whispered.
She pressed on the small, smooth section of stone directly below the carving, just as she had learned at the fountain and the Obelisk. A mechanism, hidden deep within the foundation, activated. A narrow, recessed panel in the wall, perfectly camouflaged by the stonework, slid inward with a barely audible grinding sound.
It revealed a flight of steep, medieval stone steps leading down into absolute darkness.
"This isn't part of the main crypt system," Laurent confirmed, his eyes wide. "This is older. This is Vance's access to the pre-Roman foundations."
They paused on the threshold. Elara pulled out the Hourglass Key and the Broken Circle Key, their silver and iron surfaces gleaming faintly in the half-light. These keys, symbols of power and sacrifice, had led them here, to the geometric heart of Parisian philosophy.
"The Argentum Society is looking for a way in," Elara said, helping Laurent onto the first step. "We just found Vance's way in. This is the original nexus point."
The descent was long and chilling. The air grew stale, and the stone steps eventually gave way to uneven, damp earth and the heavy scent of mineral dust. As they went deeper, Elara felt a slight, almost imperceptible static charge on her skin—the energy of the Ley Lines, waiting to be regulated or released.
When they reached the bottom, the space opened into a vast, silent chamber—a rough-hewn cavern of vaulted ceilings supported by enormous, ancient pillars. The floor was covered in dust, and the silence was profound.
But across the chamber, cutting through the heavy darkness, was a single, recent track—deep grooves pressed into the dust, leading toward the far wall. They were the unmistakable marks of heavy machinery: the tracks of a winch or a small crane.
The Argentum Society had not only reached the Panthéon; they were already moving the Regulator cabinet into position.
"We're too late," Laurent gasped, leaning against a pillar. "They're here, Elara. Dubois is here."