Jules moved with a speed that belied his injuries, recognizing the ancient radio equipment on the desk. It wasn't just a communication device; it was a powerful, unregulated transmitter.
"They brought me in here because this place is shielded, but that radio is a relic," Jules explained, his fingers flying across the dials. "It can hit every newspaper office and police precinct in Paris, but it's completely illegal. They assume no one would risk using it."
"We need a diversion to get us up to Laurent," Elara whispered, inspecting the two unconscious agents.
"A diversion of noise and chaos," Jules grinned, his old journalistic fire returning. He quickly typed out a short, explosive message on a spare sheet of paper—a distilled version of the truth, stripped of any alchemical nonsense. It named Dubois, cited the theft of a Regulator from the Bibliothèque Nationale, and warned of structural collapse at the Panthéon due to illegal excavation.
Jules fed the paper into the transmitter's optical scanner. "No names—just a source. They'll dismiss it as a crank, but every editor will be chasing the scent. It's enough to jam their communications and, more importantly, distract Dubois's attention from the basement door."
With a final adjustment, Jules flicked the "Broadcast" switch. The transmitter hummed violently, drowning out the ambient silence of the house. For ten seconds, the device unleashed a furious, high-powered static signal laced with the alarming, concise message into the Parisian airwaves.
"That," Jules said, pulling the power cord, his breathing ragged, "was the loudest truth Paris has heard all century. Let's go save the professor."
Guided by the sound of the ticking clock and Jules's memories of his interrogation, they moved quickly and silently through the house. The interior of the coach house was sumptuously decorated but felt cold and unused—a perfect lair for the wealth-obsessed Society.
They reached the top floor, pausing outside a large, heavy oak door. The sound of muffled voices indicated Dubois and at least one other agent were inside.
"The Master Suite," Jules mouthed. "It's the only room on this floor. It's where they tortured him."
Elara took a deep breath, securing the two keys within her dress pocket. She had the keys to the future of the city, but she was about to walk into an ambush planned by the man who taught her everything.
Jules pointed to a deep scar on his hand. "Dubois hates a direct confrontation when he's winning. He'll want to negotiate the keys before he kills us. He needs you alive for the next five minutes."
Elara nodded. "We don't try to fight. We don't try to run. We use the keys as currency."
She pushed the door open without knocking, stepping into a spacious room designed for secrecy.
Monsieur Dubois stood at the center, looking out a large window, his composure fully restored. Beside him stood Agent Henri, holding a small pistol.
Professor Laurent was visible in the corner, slumped in an armchair, his chains removed but his color ashen.
"Ah, Elara. Punctual, as always," Dubois said, turning slowly. He saw Jules, nursing his jaw but standing tall, and a flicker of genuine irritation crossed Dubois's face. "The fool is still alive. A disappointment, Henri."
"I am here, Monsieur Dubois," Elara stated calmly. "And I have the keys."
"Excellent. You have done the difficult work for me. You accepted the necessity of Loss—the abandonment of your allies—to bring the keys to their final destination."
Dubois stepped forward, indicating a heavy iron safe built into the wall. "Laurent is stable for now, but not for long. He requires medical attention that only I can guarantee. I know you still feel a measure of attachment to him, Elara."
"What do you want?"
"The keys, placed on that table," Dubois demanded, pointing to a small, marble-topped table beside the safe. "And in exchange, you and the professor walk away, alive, with a full dossier that confirms you were acting on my behalf. You can even take the credit for uncovering the historical truth. Jules can have his headline, suitably altered. You keep your reputations; I keep the ultimate power."
Elara hesitated, reaching slowly into her pocket. She pulled out the Hourglass Key (Eternity) and placed it gently on the table.
"The Hourglass is yours, Dubois. The power of time. But the Broken Circle Key (Loss) stays with me."
Dubois laughed, a dry, brittle sound. "Do you think I am a fool, Elara? That key is useless to you now. It only serves to open the final lock on the Regulator."
"You are correct," Elara replied, her voice steady. "But Laurent revealed something to me you never understood: the Regulator is not just a lock. It is a switch. Vance built it with a failsafe."
She pointed to the iron key in her hand. "The Broken Circle Key does not just open the cabinet; it is the stabilization pin. If you attempt to access the Regulator at the Panthéon nexus without this key engaged in the mechanism, the device will rupture. You will destabilize the entire region."
Jules understood immediately. "It's the ethical counterweight! The keys aren't two parts of a lock; they're two poles of a switch!"
Dubois's eyes narrowed, a shadow of genuine doubt crossing his face. He knew Elara's depth of knowledge was far superior to his own.
"It's a clever bluff, Elara, but I will not fall for it," Dubois said, signaling Henri to raise his weapon. "We will take the key from your dead hands if necessary, and we will find out if you were lying later."
"Before you do that, Monsieur Dubois," Jules interjected, moving suddenly toward the window. "Listen to the city. Listen to your network."
Jules threw open the heavy window. The muffled sounds of the street below were now pierced by the rising, distinctive wail of police sirens.
Dubois spun around in shock. "What have you done?"
"It's the first ripple of my broadcast," Jules said, leaning out the window. "They won't know where to look yet, but they heard the name Argentum and the word Panthéon. In an hour, every paper will be on this story. The police will start looking into the museum's 'gas leak.' You are exposed, Dubois. You have two choices: Secure the Regulator now, or try to silence a thousand journalists."
Dubois stared from the window—the sight of the flashing lights confirmed the rising chaos—back to the young curator holding the single, crucial iron key. He knew he didn't have time for a prolonged confrontation.
"Henri! Get the Professor!" Dubois commanded, making his choice. "We are leaving! The girl can be dealt with at the Panthéon. We will force the Regulator there!"