Damien was at the curtain before Jade finished speaking.
He looked past her, down the length of the shop to the gap at the edge of the blind. Then he took out his phone.
"The bike across from the florist," he said. "Now."
He hung up.
Madame Aubert sat in her chair. She looked at the biscuit tin in Aria's lap, then toward the street, and her face settled, as if she had been expecting this part too.
She pointed past the sink. Behind a stack of empty buckets stood a narrow door, painted the same green as the sign out front.
"La cour. Puis le passage. Ça sort rue du Mont-Thabor."
"The courtyard," Damien said. "Then a passage to the next street."
He was already moving the buckets.
Aria stood with the tin pressed against her stomach. "What about her? That man watched us walk in. If they come back—"
Damien translated. Madame Aubert lifted one gloved hand toward the clock over the sink.
"Il est midi passé. Je suis fermée."
"It's past noon," Damien said. "She's closed."
