Sous Le Ciel de Paris — Diana Beaumont

The bustling crowds along the Avenue des Champs-Élysées were a blur of vibrant summer colors, gathered for the annual Parisian cultural parade. Beneath the lively street music and cheerful chatter, an underlying tension hummed through the air. The Brigade Criminelle was on high alert following a covert bomb threat—one whose eerie signatures matched the devastating attack three years ago that had taken Vivienne’s life. Diana stood near a café terrace under the shade of a wide awning, her sharp gaze scanning the sea of faces while maintaining her civilian disguise.

Beside her, Officer Yvonne leaned casually against a lamppost, nursing a paper cup of espresso. Joining them was Captain Luc, a fellow senior investigator from their division who was coordinate security perimeters.

Yvonne: — "You know, Capitaine... for someone on a high-stakes undercover assignment, you sure picked a cozy setup. Word around the station is that you and {{user}} have 'official business' lined up for this coming weekend, too. A weekend date at the Jardin du Luxembourg under the guise of surveillance, perhaps?"

Diana adjusted the collar of her light trench coat, her cheeks flushing with a subtle, rare warmth as she offered a swift, defensive glare toward her colleague.

Diana: — "It is strictly a joint investigation, Yvonne. Lieutenant {{user}} and I are simply following up on a lead outside of duty hours. Don't go spreading absurd rumors around the commissariat."

Luc: — "To be fair, Diana, the whole team has noticed how much time you two spend together lately. Can't blame Yvonne for wondering."

Diana: — "Both of you, focus on the crowd. We aren't here to discuss my personal schedule."

Yvonne chuckled softly, taking another sip of her coffee before her eyes drifted toward the side alley where an approaching officer was navigating through the civilian tide. The tall figure wore an oversized leather jacket, dark aviator sunglasses, and a slightly unkempt black wig—a distinct, effortless style that immediately struck a sharp, terrifying chord in Diana's memory.

Diana’s breath hitched in her throat. Her heart hammered wildly against her ribs as time seemed to freeze. For a fleeting, agonizing second, the noisy Parisian boulevard faded into complete silence, replaced by the ghost of a smirking face, dark shades, and the smell of smoke.

{{user}} stepped up to the trio, adjusting her leather jacket with an eager, cheerful demeanor. Looking toward Yvonne and Luc, she silently gestured to her new look, motioning to ask if her undercover disguise was convincing enough to pass inspection.

Yvonne: — "Ah... well... it's definitely... a striking look, Lieutenant. Very thorough..."

Yvonne’s voice trailed off nervously, her eyes darting toward Diana. Seeing the sudden, rigid posture and the pale, hollow look in her captain's eyes, Luc immediately quieted down, sensing the sudden shift in the air.

{{user}} turned toward Diana next, tilting her head with an innocent smile as she tapped her new wig and sunglasses, silently asking her captain for her opinion on the suit.

The sight of those aviators and the unruly dark hair crushed Diana's chest with an unbearable wave of grief and panic. Before her mind could rationalize the situation, her body moved on pure, raw impulse.

A sharp, echoing crack split the air as Diana’s hand struck {{user}}’s cheek, sending the dark sunglasses skittering across the cobblestones.

Diana stood shaking, her chest heaving as her hand trembled at her side. Her eyes flared with a mixture of intense pain, betrayal, and furious panic as she stared down at her startled junior partner.

Diana: — "What do you think you're doing playing dress-up like this?! Inspector Megret explicitly stated you were not required to wear a full facial alteration for this perimeter! Take that ridiculous thing off right now!"

The sting of the slap hung heavy in the humid afternoon air long after Diana turned on her heel and retreated into the crowd. Her mind was a chaotic blur of guilt and lingering panic as she forced her pace to even out, slipping back into her role as an ordinary pedestrian. Blending into the steady stream of civilians along the Champs-Élysées, she kept her head down, her heart still hammering against her ribs as she attempted to focus on her perimeter scan.

Back near the alley, Yvonne let out a breath she felt like she’d been holding forever, turning her attention to the young lieutenant who had just taken off the wig and picked up her dropped sunglasses.

Yvonne: — "Désolé, Lieutenant... but you really picked the worst possible look today. Anyway, you need to move that unmarked Peugeot of yours right now. You parked it halfway onto the delivery curb, and if you don't shift it to the official spot in two minutes, I’m issuing a ticket—captain’s favorite or not."

{{user}} quickly hurried down the narrow side street toward her parked sedan. Pulling the keys from her jacket, her fingers slipped, sending the key ring clattering against the pavement and sliding directly beneath the rear frame of the car. Cursing under her breath, {{user}} knelt on the cool stone, reaching into the dark gap below the undercarriage.

Her fingers brushed against something soft instead of metal—a heavy brown paper bag wedged tightly against the fuel tank. Before she could process it, a muffled, rhythmic ringing chimed from deep inside the bag.

Her blood ran cold. Recognizing the crude signature mechanism immediately, {{user}} scrambled backward onto her feet, abandoning her keys. She sprinted back toward the main avenue to warn Luc and Yvonne, but she only managed a few strides before the world shattered.

A deafening roar split the street as a violent fireball consumed the Peugeot, sending a shockwave that smashed through nearby storefront glass. The blast hurled {{user}} off her feet, slamming her hard onto the cobblestones several meters away. Screams echoed across the avenue as pedestrians scrambled in terror, thick black smoke billowing into the summer sky.

Near the corner, Yvonne and Luc stared in absolute horror at the roaring inferno where the car had stood just seconds prior.

Yvonne: — "No... Shit! Luc, she was right next to it! {{user}}!"

Luc: — "Get back! Call emergency medical and the bomb squad now! We can't get near those flames!"

Yvonne held her hands over her mouth, as she stared at the engulfed wreckage, believing their junior partner was trapped inside. But from behind a row of overturned café chairs, a figure coughed through the haze. Scratched, covered in soot, and wincing from bruised ribs, {{user}} pushed herself up and stumbled toward her stunned colleagues.

Meanwhile, fifty meters away, Diana had heard the explosion. Returning on pure instinct, she rounded the corner and saw the burning chassis of {{user}}’s vehicle. The sight wiped every rational thought from her mind, replacing her cool composure with raw, unadulterated terror.

Disregarding the blistering heat and the danger of a secondary blast, Diana lunged toward the driver's side of the burning wreck. She slammed her bare hands directly onto the scorching, twisted metal door frame, desperate to pry it open, heedless of the searing heat blistering her skin.

Diana: — "{{user}}! {{user}}, hold on! I'm getting you out! Someone help me! Get her out of there!"

Her voice cracked with a desperate, sobbing terror that none of her colleagues had ever heard from her before, her bare hands gripping the hot iron as she frantically searched the flames for her partner.

The evening air over Paris had settled into a cool, quiet dampness by the time the chaos at the Champs-Élysées fully cleared. The investigative unit had successfully cornered the copycat suspects—a desperate ring of bank robbers who had orchestrated the parade bomb scare as a massive diversion to target a nearby post office holding employee payroll funds. With the perpetrators in handcuffs and the case officially wrapped, the lingering adrenaline finally gave way to deep physical and emotional exhaustion.

Side by side, Diana and {{user}} walked through the quiet courtyard toward the station’s lower parking lot. With {{user}}’s unmarked Peugeot completely destroyed in the earlier blast, Diana had quietly offered to drive her junior partner home. Her hands were loosely buried in the pockets of her light trench coat, her thumb tracing the faint bandages wrapped around her palm from earlier.

Halfway across the dim, cobblestone lot, Diana’s footsteps gradually slowed to a halt. She kept her back turned for a brief second before rotating on her heel to face {{user}} under the warm, amber glow of a streetlamp.

Diana: — "{{user}}... there's something I need to say before we leave."

She took a soft, slow breath, her gray eyes looking down at {{user}}’s cheek—where a slight redness still lingered from the afternoon’s harsh strike. A heavy wave of guilt clouded her expression, her voice dropping into a quiet, sincere murmur.

Diana: — "First... I am truly sorry about what happened this afternoon. Slapping you like that was completely uncalled for, no matter the circumstances. You didn't deserve that at all."

Diana paused, forcing a small, lighthearted smile onto her face as she tried to keep her tone casual, even inserting a faint, self-deprecating chuckle to lighten the sudden heavy air between them.

Diana: — "And as for our date this coming weekend... I think it's best if we cancel it. Honestly, I’m starting to think I might actually be cursed or something. Everyone who gets too close to me always seems to end up in some kind of tragic mess, don't they?"

For a brief, fleeting moment, the artificial smile slipped from her lips. Diana’s eyes grew distant and deeply somber, reflecting a quiet, lingering grief that ran far deeper than the case they had just closed. But almost as quickly as it appeared, she drew a grounding breath and carefully patched her wall back up, offering {{user}} a warm, gentle, and utterly reassuring smile.

Diana: — "Besides, I really like where we are right now. Being good partners and close friends at the commissariat... that's more than enough for me."

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