Geneva, Switzerland – 10:14 AM – Secret Intelligence Vault
The man known only as Valen Cross -V.X. watched the encrypted footage on a vintage projector in the hidden vault beneath Geneva. Grainy black-and-white images flickered across the room: war-torn villages, ivory shipments transferred between hands in the dark, and, finally, a face.
Isabel Laurent. Younger than he remembered. Wiser than her father. And far more dangerous. "She found it," he said quietly.
A woman in a grey pantsuit stepped forward from the shadows. Dr. Emilia Frost, cyberneticist and Cross's most trusted operative, tilted her head. "She decrypted the first layer. Your seal."
Cross exhaled, measured. "Ethan failed to destroy it."
"You told him to disappear." "I told him to burn the past."
"She is the past," Frost said softly. Cross turned, the projector's light casting harsh angles across his scarred face. "Then perhaps it's time she joins it."
Paris – Louvre Archives – 2:03 PM.
Isabel stood in the underground archives with Rhea, her hands gloved again, her voice tight with urgency. "I need access to the museum's restricted Cold War files."
Rhea raised an eyebrow. "That's not a small ask."
"They're tied to my father." Rhea leaned back against the shelving. "You've been spiralling since yesterday. Now there are secret files and symbols and what—spies?"
Isabel met her eyes. "He didn't die in the jungle, Rhea. He was silenced." A long silence.
Finally, Rhea nodded. "You have two hours. I'll cover for you."
Isabel swallowed the gratitude. No time for tears. She moved fast, descending into the oldest part of the Louvre's vault—sealed records, off-grid, immune to digital access. The musty air reeked of time and secrets.
She located the file: Operation Ivory Phoenix.
Her hands shook as she opened it. Inside: blurry photos, tactical maps, faded notes in French and English. One page stood out, marked with the same seal as the tusk.
And next to it… her father's handwriting.
"If you are reading this, I'm likely dead. Trust no one. Not even him. Especially not him. – H.L."
She blinked. "Not even… who?" A thump echoed in the hallway. Her body went rigid.
Someone was down there with her. Rooftop Overwatch – Louvre Exterior
Ethan, scoped in with a high-powered lens, watched Isabel disappear into the sub-levels.
"She's going into restricted vaults," Gus said through the comms. "She's walking into a trap."
"Then why the hell are we sitting here?" Ethan stood. We're not."
Isabel froze, listening to the silence swell around her.
The thump came again closer. Not like a footstep, more like a shove. Someone is forcing a door open.
She snatched the file and backed behind one of the massive stone support columns. Her heart thudded so loudly it felt like it echoed through the entire chamber. She reached for her phone.
No signal. The lights flickered once, then held.
A shadow moved at the far end of the corridor. A man, tall, dark coat, something glinting in his hand.
Isabel slipped off her heels, clutching the file to her chest, and creeping barefoot across the stone floor. She found a side alcove filled with ancient crates of war artifacts and ducked behind them.
She watched the figure step fully into the chamber. He wore gloves, a black suit. Military, by his posture. Not security.
She held her breath as he scanned the room. He didn't call out. He knew she was here.
He raised a silencer-fitted pistol. Her body screamed to run. But her brain had other ideas.
She grabbed an old ceremonial spear shaft leaning against the crate and hurled it across the room. It clattered to the far side, loud as thunder.
The gunman turned instinctively.
She sprinted in the opposite direction, bounding up the metal staircase as bullets pinged off stone behind her.
Upstairs, Rhea stood waiting, gun drawn.
Isabel burst out. "He's down there!"
Rhea didn't hesitate. She opened fire toward the stairwell. A shot was answered back, but the attacker didn't pursue. He vanished into the shadows, too familiar with exits.
Rhea slammed the vault door shut, locking it. "What the hell is going on?"
Isabel held up the folder, breathless. "My father was hunting something called Operation Ivory Phoenix. This is what he died for."
Rhea took the folder, flipping through it quickly, jaw tightening. "We need help."
Isabel looked up. "From who?"
Elsewhere in Paris – The Old Church Ruin – 3:19 PM
Damien Wolfe adjusted his sleeve cuffs and poured two glasses of scotch. The former MI6 ghost turned private black-ops broker had a reputation for playing both sides, but his price was steep and his loyalty even steeper.
Ethan entered, soaking wet from Paris drizzle, hair dishevelled.
"You're late," Wolfe said. "I was saving someone." Wolfe chuckled. "From what? A papercut?"
Ethan didn't laugh. Wolfe sipped his drink. "So, the girl has the files?"
"She has more than that. She's closer to the truth than we were."
"That'll make her a target."
"She already is." Wolfe studied him. "You're still in love with her."
Ethan's silence said everything. Wolfe stood, grabbing his coat. "Then I hope you're ready to break every rule you swore to follow. Because to protect her, you'll have to betray them all."
The Louvre's security sealed off the sublevels within minutes. But the official report said nothing about gunfire. Nothing about a masked intruder. Just a "containment failure" and "misfiled documents."
Rhea stood outside the emergency exit, arms crossed, fuming.
"They're covering it up." Isabel nodded slowly. "Which means they're compromised too."
Rhea looked at her. "We can't do this alone, Iz. We need help—real help. Not a washed-up historian or a dead man's journal."
"I know." Isabel hesitated, then pulled a folded note from her coat pocket, one she hadn't dared open until now. Her father's handwriting was shaky, as if he'd written it in a rush.
"If the seal is found, trust only 'E'. He knows everything. He will find you first."
Isabel's throat tightened. "'E'… could it be Ethan?"
Rhea blinked. "Ethan Vance? The Ethan Vance who faked his death five years ago?"
Isabel's stomach twisted. "He worked with my father. They were close. Before he vanished, he warned me to stay away from the archives. I never knew why… until now."
Rhea said quietly, "If he's alive, and if he's watching you… Maybe he already knows you've opened the file."
Paris – Rue de Belleville – 4:06 PM
The door to Isabel's apartment was ajar. She stepped inside cautiously. Rhea covered her with a small revolver. The place looked untouched except for the single envelope lying on her kitchen table.
Isabel picked it up. Inside: a flash drive and a handwritten message in a familiar script.
"You're in danger. The tusk was only one piece. You've awakened the map. They'll come now. Don't trust the Agency. Don't trust Frost. Meet me where your father last saw the stars. E"
She sank into a chair, breath caught in her chest.
Rhea looked at the message. "What the hell does that mean?"
Isabel whispered, "My father and I used to stargaze outside Versailles. The last time… he called it our 'map to nowhere.'"
Rhea straightened. "Then that's where we go."
Isabel looked down at the drive. "If this is really from Ethan, then he's been protecting me all along."
Rhea's voice softened. "And if it's a trap?" Isabel swallowed. "Then we spring it."
Outside — Hidden in the shadows
Ethan watched as the lights in her flat flickered on, then off. He held his breath when he saw her pick up the envelope.
"She's smarter than they give her credit for," Gus said through comms.
"She's better than all of us," Ethan replied.
Gus was quiet for a beat. "Then why did you leave her?"
Ethan didn't answer. He turned into the dark alley, the weight of memory dragging behind him like chains, knowing the truth he'd buried was about to resurface.
And if Isabel found out what happened to her father? He'd lose her. Again.
Versailles – The Abandoned Observatory Grounds – 7:52 PM.
The last of the daylight bled across the horizon as Isabel stepped through the rusted gates, Rhea at her side, revolver tucked beneath her coat.
The old observatory loomed in silhouette against the sky. It had been their sanctuary once—hers and her father's. A place where the spoken of is not as science, but as destiny.
Now, it felt like a tomb. "Are you sure this is the place?" Rhea asked, scanning the quiet grounds.
Isabel nodded. "He said it's where the stars would return."
Rhea looked uneasy. "Let's not stay longer than necessary."
They walked past the shattered dome and into the ruins. The door was unlocked. Inside, dust danced in the shafts of moonlight, and the remnants of forgotten years whispered around them.
A single candle flickered on the old telescope platform.
Isabel stepped closer and froze. He stood in the shadows, taller than she remembered, wearing black. Older. More haunted.
Ethan Vance. The man she once loved. The man who had died.
Her mouth opened, but no words came. Her pulse roared in her ears.
He stepped forward slowly, hands open, unarmed. "Izzy."
The nickname hit her like a bullet. She flinched. Rhea's revolver was up in an instant. "Step back."
Ethan nodded. "I'm not here to hurt her. I'm here to keep her alive."
"Like you did five years ago?" Isabel snapped, her voice breaking. "You let me bury you." Ethan looked her dead in the eyes. "If I hadn't disappeared, you'd be dead too." "Why?" she demanded. "Why this? Why now?" Ethan reached into his coat slowly and laid a worn leather notebook on the floor between them. "Because what your father uncovered didn't die with him. It was buried. And now you've dug it up."
Isabel picked it up with shaking hands. Her father's field journal.
Her breath caught. The first page read:
Project V.X. is still active. And it has a new target: Isabel Laurent.
She looked at Ethan. "What is this?" Ethan stepped closer. "Your father built a cipher network. Hidden messages, dead drops, secret allies. All tied to the ivory routes. That tusk you found—it's a key. One of seven."
Her voice trembled. "And what happens when someone has them all?"
"Then they can unlock everything—the routes, the identities, the money trail. And bring down the men who run it." Rhea spoke. "You mean Cross."
Ethan nodded once. "And Frost. And half the intelligence world."
Isabel stepped back. "My father died for this."
"No," Ethan said, voice thick. "He died saving you. And now it's your turn to finish it."
A long, heavy silence settled. Then, the glass shattered from above.
They all dove as two masked men burst through the roof—armed, fast, lethal.
Rhea fired first, taking one in the shoulder. Ethan tackled Isabel behind a marble column. Gunfire exploded. Dust and glass filled the air.
Ethan shoved a pistol into her hand. "You remember how to shoot?"
She nodded once. He stared at her. "Then don't miss."