LYRAThe file opened in front of me seems almost banal, thin, fragile, but I know it contains the weight of twenty years of mysteries and silences. My fingers brush over the papers, my heart races, and the restaurant, though neutral and quiet, becomes a suspended theater, where every word could tilt the reality I had reconstructed.Yann sits down with the calculated calm that characterizes him, crosses his legs, and looks me straight in the eyes. I feel Lucas tense beside me, his hands clenched on the table, ready to intervene if the atmosphere becomes too charged.— Before we begin, murmurs Yann, I need to know… where is Alexandre?I almost jump. Lucas gives me a questioning glance, and I sense that the mere name of Alexandre triggers something in this room.— He is… with us in our thoughts, I reply softly, my heart pounding. He doesn’t know anything about this yet.Yann nods, seemingly satisfied with a partial answer, then continues, more seriously:— Good. Because what I’ve discove
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