Mathias Dubois
The problem was not that Élodie had left.
The problem was that she had done so quietly.
Mathis stood in the private terminal, jacket immaculate, expression strained just enough to suggest control. Around him, assistants spoke into headsets, phones rang, and someone had already spilled coffee on a marble counter that cost more than most apartments.
"She didn't take her main credit cards," one aide said.
"Her passport?" Luc asked.
"Used. Late last night."
Laurent arrived moments later, his stride sharp, eyes unreadable. Chloé Lavigne, followed, sunglasses still on indoors, chewing gum like this was mildly inconvenient rather than unprecedented.
"She's proving a point," Laurent said lightly. "We'll find her."
Mathis did not answer.
Because Élodie had never proven points before.
"She didn't tell her parents," Chloé, said. "That's… unusual."
Unusual was one word for it.
Mathis pulled out his phone and refreshed her social media feed.
Nothing.
No farewell post. No cryptic quote. No dramatic black-and-white photo.
Just silence.
"She's probably in Paris," Chloé, said. "Or Milan. Somewhere dramatic."
"She hates Milan," Laurent replied. "Too loud."
Mathis refreshed again.
Chloé Lavigne
The jets were scrambled within the hour.
That part was satisfying—movement, momentum, money doing what money did best. Chloé sprawled in a leather seat as his assistant rattled off destinations.
"Paris, Nice, Zurich—"
"Zurich?" Chloé interrupted. "She doesn't ski."
"She used to ski," the assistant said weakly.
"Once," Chloé said. "When she was fourteen."
Mathis was still staring at his phone.
Laurent was already opening a laptop, tracking logistics like a military operation.
"This is excessive," Chloé said. "She's upset, not kidnapped."
Mathis looked up slowly.
"You heard what we said," Mathis replied. "Didn't you?"
Chloé opened his mouth, then closed it.
"…Yes."
Laurent's fingers paused on the keyboard.
Mathis's jaw tightened. "Then this isn't excessive. This is damage control."
Chloé scoffed. "She's not fragile."
Mathis didn't respond.
He refreshed her feed again.
Laurent
They searched the wrong cities.
Paris turned up nothing. Milan nothing. Zurich nothing. A junior assistant confidently suggested London until Laurent reminded him that Élodie hated the rain and crowds.
"She'd want somewhere anonymous," Chloé said.
"Anonymous?" Mathis laughed. "She's never been anonymous a day in her life."
Laurent didn't laugh.
That was the problem.
Mathis's phone buzzed.
He froze.
Then exhaled sharply when it was only a notification from a fashion house tagging Élodie in a three-year-old photo.
"She hasn't deleted anything," Mathis said. "She just… stopped."
Laurent leaned back in his chair.
"She didn't run," he said quietly. "She disappeared."
For the first time, Chloé removed his sunglasses.
Élodie
The city did not look at her.
That was the first thing she noticed.
No second glances. No recognition. No softening of expressions when her surname appeared on paperwork—because it didn't.
The airport was small, efficient, and faintly smelled of disinfectant and bad coffee. Élodie stepped off the plane with one suitcase and the vague sensation of having forgotten something important.
She had not.
She took a bus.
It rattled.
She paid in cash.
No one commented.
Her apartment was on the third floor of a building that had never hosted a chandelier in its life. The stairwell smelled faintly of soup and detergent. Someone had taped a handwritten sign near the mailboxes reminding residents not to leave trash outside the door.
Élodie unlocked the apartment.
It was small.
The walls were beige. The furniture was mismatched. The window looked out onto another building's wall, where someone had painted a crooked flower and given up halfway through.
She set down her suitcase.
Listened.
Nothing.
No staff. No notifications. No expectations.
She laughed once, quietly, surprised at the sound.
Mathis
By the second day, Mathis had refreshed Élodie's social media feed so many times his phone suggested turning on digital wellness.
He turned it off.
"She's not posting because she knows we're watching," Laurent said. "It's strategic."
Chloé glanced at Mathis . "You think she planned this?"
Mathis didn't answer immediately.
"No," he said finally. "I think she finally stopped planning around us."
That sat poorly.
A junior assistant approached hesitantly. "Sir… we may have a lead."
Mathis straightened. "Where?"
"…A domestic flight. Budget airline. Cash ticket."
Chloé blinked. "She's never flown budget."
Laurent's lips pressed together.
Mathis stood. "Where did it land?"
The assistant hesitated.
Mathis's stomach sank.
Élodie
She burned the toast.
It filled the apartment with smoke and a faint sense of failure. She opened the window and waved a dish towel until the smoke alarm stopped screaming.
"So," she told the empty room, "this is independence."
She sat on the floor and ate the least burned slice anyway.
Her phone buzzed.
She stared at it for a long moment before turning it face down.
The city continued not to care.
Outside, someone argued about parking. Somewhere else, music played too loudly. A dog barked and was immediately shushed.
Élodie lay back on the floor, staring at the ceiling.
For the first time in years, no one was waiting for her to become something.
She closed her eyes.
Chloé
"She didn't go somewhere impressive," Chloé said slowly.
Laurent looked at him.
"She went somewhere quiet."
Chloé frowned. "Why would she do that?"
Laurent thought of Élodie at twelve, sitting silently while adults joked about her future like it was a business merger.
"Because," Laurent said, "she's tired of being looked at."
Mathis's phone buzzed again.
Nothing.
He refreshed anyway.
Élodie
That night, the city rained.
Not dramatically. Just enough to blur the lights and soften the noise.
Élodie stood at her window and watched people hurry past with umbrellas and groceries and lives that had nothing to do with her.
She didn't miss anyone.
That surprised her most of all.
She turned off the light and went to sleep in a bed that no one else had chosen for her.