Lutèce, 00:43 in the early morning.
A female actress walked out of the theatre with her daughter, the streets eerily silent. Even the brothels and casinos that normally operated all night had passed their peak hours and were now dedicated to serving a select few VIP customers, making it even harder to find pedestrians on the streets.
Accustomed to walking at night, the mother and daughter were already used to this. It seemed that Lutèce, seemingly untouched by war and eternally prosperous, should be this way: vibrant and full of laughter from dawn to dusk, quieting only during the few hours from late night to sunrise.
This was normal, something taken for granted, and not the least bit suspicious.
Having not walked far, the mother suddenly felt an unexplained palpitation and grabbed her daughter's hand, looking around vigilantly.
Several seconds passed before she finally noticed something that didn't match her memory of the "usual".
It was too quiet—
