Chapter 3
Until death do us part
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   The small hotel room was far from what most people imagine when thinking about the glamorous and romantic Paris the media portrayed. She was in the centre of the capital, in a shabby two-stars hotel they booked in a hurry. The bed, in the middle of the four walls of her assigned room, was small with creamy worn sheets but clean. A slight stench of humidity lingered in the air, alongside a way more pleasant smell of food, probably from outside.

Helena let herself cramble on the bed, exhausted by her flight and the fifty-five minutes of public transport with her luggage. The infinite stairs of the underground were crazy.

After a while, she went to the window and took in the view from there. She could see the adjacent street from the one she entered the hotel as her room was on the opposite side of the corridor and the roofs of the Haussmanian buildings lined up in an asymmetrical scheme. It wasn't the first time she travelled here but she was still amazed by its architecture. Helena had been in most of the European countries, actually, and several times in half of them but she could hardly say she had travelled there, not in the sense of vacations, at least. Never had she been to a museum for the exhibit itself or in a restaurant for the food – not that she would want to with her five-years-old palate, or walking into the streets and gardens as a tourist. She always strided with a purpose and attended events for something in return.

Helena let out a loud sight before moving and standing up to unpack her bags. She was grateful her socks were thick enough so her feet didn't directly come in contact with the raspy carpet. She settled her suitcase wide open on the bed for easy access and changed from her old favourite pine green t-shirt and cargo for a marine dress she tried and bought especially for this trip. With her hair down, the dress flying around her pale legs and her leather vest, she almost looked like a fashionable tourist. Only her rangers stood a bit from the rest but as Paris was a mess of stairs and long streets, she thought nobody would think anything of it and would understand her for wanting to keep comfortable shoes. The scratch that Ariadne had left on her cheek the day before wasn't very deep, foundation had been enough to hide it. Helena made sure she could smile. In front of the mirror, she rehearsed some facial expressions and then the whole act she will perform at the restaurant, the script, precisely marked down and highlighted on the piece of paper she had kept safe inside her pocket.

The plan was kind of easy. She had to meet a man at a chic but not so fancy restaurant and make him talk about what he knew about Ariadne's location. It was money against data. Ten thousand euros in cash were piled up in the bag she adjusted on her shoulders. The whole thing had to look like a date, with very information delivered as a casualty or a way to get to know the other and the bag discreetly taken by him. It wasn't an important somme for an organisation like hers but it was also a lot for just an address. She couldn't screw this.

Helena wasn't keen of dates and of restaurants in general, but with a man in prime ? It was going to be hell. But she was ready and it was time so she took a deep breath in and left her room after.

Her boots resonated against the wooden stairs but she passed the reception without a look from the woman, curled up in front of her computer behind the desk. The night had already set but it wasn't dark. This city never slept. On the other hand, she loved how it was easy to navigate in its winding streets. Some towns or places constantly required the use of a car or public transport. She was ahead of schedule, so she decided to walk to the restaurant.

When she arrived, the place was already crowded. Conversations rose from every corner and it was so much hotter than on the outside. Helena had a tendency to always be hot, even in not so warm temperatures so the sudden difference assailed her. She removed her jacket immediately. She took the time to appreciate the decoration and atmosphere before the waiter came to her. The ceiling mouldings and large gilt-framed mirrors gave the impression of luxury but it wasn't one of the classy restaurants on the Left Bank of Paris.

20h02. He was late. Her thumb tapped frantically against the other fingers, like she was counting on them rapidly. Every tap released a jolt of electricity from her fingertip. Her grandma had called this movement 'dancy fingers' when she was little and she never quit this habit. Under the table, her leg shook up and down. A voice finally raised behind her.

"Hello, François," he introduced himself.

His french accent was there but soft. If he was a spy or working for influential pêople, Helena guessed he could actually speak perfect english. Probably, wasn't he putting in very much effort as he was trying to pass as an actual Parisian.

"Nice to meet you, I'm Alice."

Alice Graham. Thirty three. Engineer. Single. No kids. In Paris to attend a seminar. The man's hand in hers was calloused and warm. Helena discreetly bit the inside of her cheek to try thinking of something other than the unpleasant sensation their handshake was giving her. The taste of blood in her mouth was just one of the many techniques of distraction she had developed over the years.

As soon as he was seated, the waiter brought them the menu.

"Could we have a carafe of water, please?" she asked the young man before he left.

She already knew what she was going to take, she had read the options over and over from their website,  but she made sure to look interested, taking the time to read all the options and furrowing her brows sometimes.

"I can't decide..." she lied, talking to herself like a lot of people did choosing from the menu.

Funny how she managed to act most of the time, taking missions after missions, having men and women wrapped around her fingers, how she looked confident and gracious when acting someone she wasn't, but, paradoxically, outside her work, her life didn't feel right. It was like she needed the same scripts she used for missions just to interact with others and her day-to-day life needed to be planned and organised to the minute, just like these fake dates.

The waiter came back to their table to bring them the water and asked if they had already chosen.

"Je vais vous prendre le pavé de saumon et la fondue de poireaux, s'il vous plaît." François started.

"Et pour Madame?"

"Pour moi ce sera... excuse my French," she faked a bad accent and an embarrassed look. "I'll take the canard laqué with les pommes de terre à la Sarladaise. Sans sauce, please."

They each ordered a glass of wine that goes with their food and the man left. A silence followed for a while.

"So, where do you plan to go this week-end ?" François finally dared to ask.

"I don't know, what place would you recommend?"

She cringed at how her voice automatically went sultrier and higher. It worked well but it wasn't her.

"Le Sacré Coeur. It's in the eighteenth district."

"Oh, I heard so many nice things about it–"

She was interrupted by the waiter bringing the plates and glasses of wine they had ordered.

"Where were we?"

"You should pass by la Rue des Martyrs."

"Pretty street?" she pretended to be interested, forcing a smile.

Every sound around her was too much and the lights too bright. She had eaten half of her dish and already wanted to be out. At least, it was really good and they had respected her 'no sauce' request.

"Very. There's some lovely restaurants, bookstores, bars, little supermarkets and some abandoned shops."

"Abandoned?"

This part picked her curiosity for real. Not that she was surprised such places existed. But she had guessed Ariadne would have found herself a room or a flat somewhere, even a safe house, not living in some dusty derelict place.

"They seem to be. One that I often walk past has a faded yellow shopfront and white curtains behind the windows. I think it used to be a bakery a long time ago."

"Wow, I didn't know. Will definitely be visiting the area tomorrow."

The rest of the dinner went well. Even if it wasn't Helena's cup of tea, at least it all went without any hitch.

"Can I walk you back to your hotel?" he asked once they were in the street.

The bag was in his hand. Her part was over.

"No, I would rather walk alone. Have a nice night !" she answered, gesturing a sign of goodbye with her hand before pulling her wired earphones from her pocket.

The melody that came out of them was pleasant, and the fresh air of the night grazing against her skin calmed her frayed nerves and senses. The search for Ariadne would start early the next morning so she still had a few hours before her to wander in the night, get back to her hotel, prepare everything she'd need and sleep for a bit.

***

The old yellow-fronted shop was indeed closed. The For Rent sign behind the window was partially obscured by tags and posters in poor condition. After locating the place, once she was back in her hotel room, she had run some research about the exits. A blueprint from the building's construction indicated a door in the back store, opening onto an inner courtyard.

She had managed to find a lookout in the opposite building. An old lady had let her in after she offered to help her take her shopping upstairs. She had been careful to keep their interaction low-key and quick to not draw attention to themselves in case Ariadne was nearby. She had to wait for hours behind a dusty window before making out any sign of Ariadne. A shadow had just passed inside the shop she had been watching since dawn. Her vision had not betrayed her. A few minutes later, the door opened and she recognised the woman she was looking for merging into the mass of passers-by. It was Saturday and even if the weather wasn't that good, the streets were crammed.

There was her chance. She didn't know how long the field would be clear. She left the building from which she had been watching and crossed the street. Ariadne apparently had time to lock the door behind her and if Helena had to pick a lock, it was wiser to do it out of sight. She rounded the corner of the building and waited for the door to be opened. There was no doorbell or intercom, but in the middle of the afternoon people were coming and going all the time.

    "Merci," she thanked the person that kept the door open for her.

Up until then, everything had gone smoothly. Crocheting a lock was an art she mastered and because it was an old mechanism with large gaps, the kind that opened with big rusty iron keys, it took her less than a minute to enter the shop. It was a mystery how this kind of place didn't get broken into frequently and why the owner had never made the necessary changes.

    The only trace of Ariadne was an empty pizza box and a messy backpack full of clothes. It wasn't very surprising if she'd arrived there the day before and was on the run. The place smelt of plastic, old paint – although it had been peeling for a long time, and dust. Bits of plaster covered the floor, turning the place into a desolate mess. But it didn't feel like being alone here. The walls must have been thin, because you could hear the racket from outside and a few voices coming down from the neighbouring flats. Helena took the time to visit the area. It was as much because she had to wait for Ariadne as because she, perhaps, might have left clues there. Something that would prove her guilty. There wasn't. she rummaged in the bag as a precaution and found nothing.

The slamming of the front door and the footsteps that followed would have startled Helena if she hadn't already been on the alert.

"Bonjour, Ariadne." she said in a playful tone that could pass as a polite solemn greeting.

She flashed her a smile. But there wasn't any kindness in it. She lifted her hand in the air in front of the gun Ariadne pointed at her. She had taken it out with a speed that few people in the trade could match. The chips contained in the paper bag she was holding when she arrived had spread out on the floor

"What are you doing here?"

She sounded aggressive and impatient. But at least, she had lowered her gun. Helena took a moment before answering. She took off the cheap cap she had bought for a few coins in a tourist shop after realising that she had forgotten hers in London. The letters PARIS embroidered on it were filthy, but it wasn't the worst design of its kind she'd ever seen. At least it was black with white writing, only the Eiffel Tower where the A should have been was tacky.

"You wanted me to find you." she said calmly, circling one of the chairs wrapped in plastic sheeting to get closer to Ariadne.

She let out a nose laugh and Helena perceived how her jaw tensed at the same time.

"Why would I?" she asked in rhetoric, but something in her voice suggested that she was waiting for the answer.

"Because you saw me the other day and now my face haunts you. You can't stop thinking about what happened back then. My guess is that you wanted to see me again so you're sure you weren't hallucinating. You needed to be sure it wasn't your mind betraying you."

She knew what she was talking about. Seeing the other woman after such a long time didn't leave her indifferent. It had left a deep impression on her, more than she would ever dare admit to herself. Because if their meeting had pricked her ego and her curiosity – how could I've missed my shot? it had also brought back many memories that Helena had thought were buried forever.

Ariadne stepped towards Helena too. Something seemed to pull them closer and closer. Now only a mere metre apart, they were measuring the other with animosity.

"I should have ended you that night."

The words that escaped him were bitter. Her mask had dropped, she could no longer hide the anger that had risen in her chest.

"Yeah, you should have," Ariadne confirmed, throwing a punch that made Helena vacillate.

The right ranger of the American went abruptly in contact with Helena's stomach, spreading an acute pain in her whole body. It would leave her an awful bruise but Helena didn't let it faze her. She threw a closer strike, using her weight to try and tip her backwards. Ariadne almost lost her balance and it was Helena's arm underneath her that prevented her from falling. She only needed a few moments at Ariadne's side to put her plan into action. She held the woman in place for a few seconds, their face close and ready to bite. They could touch each other, they were real. Helena could feel heat against her fingers and the heart she felt pumping against her own was a physical proof she wasn't delirious.

"You knew I was here, you knew I was watching you, didn't you?" Helena asked to distract Ariadne when she planted the syringe of sedative she took out of her pocket into the American's tight.

Ariadne let out a slight gasp at the stinging sensation and Helena released her grip immediately, walking away from the woman who was hurtling towards her at breakneck speed again. Ariadne threw another punch but this one was slower, sloppier. Suddenly all her movements weren't as coordinated as before, her arms slowly giving up and her body appearing heavier.

"What's happening?" she asked, her head visibly spinning as she tried to hold still, a bit short of breath.

She knew what was happening, it probably wasn't her first time. Helena gulped, avoiding the sight of the other woman gradually sinking to the ground as her body could no longer support her.

"Propofol. It's only a matter of hours. You'll be taken back to London and questioned for the murder you committed."

"I didn't. You–" were the last words she breathed before being completely out.

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Author's note
A huge thank you for everyone reading and following this story, it means alot to me <3
Here were the first three chapters, the 4 and 5 should be posted before June 21 so stay tuned and don't forget to interact if you like this fiction so far ! I'd be happy to hear what you think of it :)