PREVIEW
... the wind.
He walked alone through the streets of Paris, ignoring the faces, the noises.
Under his arm were sealed folders, blank on the outside but full with names.
Plans.
And truth.
The café was old, shuttered to most.
A wartime relic hidden behind the opera house.
No one would look for revolution here.
Inside, it was dark wood and the smell of stale tobacco.
Two figures sat at the back table, facing each other across unto ...
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