The new telephone lines stretched below Chrysaor as far as he could see in either direction. It had taken weeks of steady labor and a dozen false starts, but Paris was finally reconnected to the wider world. The Tarasque's transit had annihilated infrastructure from one end of Paris to the other – damage that would take years to repair, even under the best of circumstances. Add on top of that the looters who had taken to stealing the huge spools of phone lines and waiting poles to scavenge the metal and wood, and it had taken the concerted effort of the surviving Paris Police, the few New Heroes of Paris in the city, and a small number of the new vigilantes, just to keep these phone lines protected until they were up and operational.

It had been an enormous undertaking.

Chrysaor had personally overseen almost the entire project, organizing patrol schedules for the heroes and police to keep the looters away from the most vital sectors of the city – often patrolling by himself to give the other heroes a chance to sleep. He had been up all night more times than he could count over the last two weeks, and right now all he wanted to do was return to the Heroes of Paris Headquarters for a few hours to recover.

Unfortunately, he could count on one hand the number of times lately that he had actually received what he wanted.

With another glance toward the south, Chrysaor satisfied himself that the telephone lines were not going to be disturbed by any of the roving groups of looters, and he turned back toward the north to face Paris. The roads beneath him were littered with debris and potholes; so focused had they been on reconnecting Paris' phones to the rest of the country that they had hardly given any thought to the roads themselves. The roadway damage here was not as extensive as that within Paris, but further in the distance, Chrysaor could see a bridge that had collapsed, rendering two roads impassable. The road crews in Paris had barely managed to clear and fill the potholes along all of the major arteries within Paris; apart from a few spots necessary for repairing the phone lines, the roads outside the city were entirely untouched.

But that was a problem for another day.

Turning to the north and tracing the phone lines into Paris proper, Chrysaor eventually flew above the repaired and reinforced La Santé Prison, just as the prisoners were being ushered outside for their morning exercise. A couple of familiar faces glared up at him from below, and he waved back, nodding to Albailier as he did so. Albailier, who had been assigned to watch the prison overnight, dipped his wings in acknowledgment and wheeled about, catching an updraft that carried him away from the prison to the west, toward the abandoned apartment building where he had made his temporary home. Further north, Chrysaor finally swung around to land right in front of the new phone line's end point: City Hall.

Two regular police officers standing guard on either side of the front door nodded to him brusquely as he strode up the stairs and past them, into the building. Inside, a growing crowd of aides and lower government officials milled about the atrium, speaking in hushed tones outside the main level office which Prefect Raincomprix had commandeered for himself. At a glance, Roger would be held up in meetings for most of the day – he could not envy him this newfound responsibility.

"Have you heard anything from Nantes?" one of the aides asked.

Another shook her head. "The furthest away that any news has come from is Versailles."

"I heard a rumor that there's trouble along the coast," a third whispered.

On the other side of the atrium, police officer with a captain's badge folded his arms. "These new recruits–" he grumbled.

The sub-prefect next to him clapped him on the shoulder. "It's not like we can turn away help when it's offered," he pointed out. "We lost too many for that."

"We'll lose more if we have to rely on untrained amateurs for everything."

"Still, it's better than leaving the city's security entirely in the hands of vigilantes," the other captain told him, her voice catching in her throat and eyes going wide as she caught sight of Chrysaor.

Briskly, Chrysaor made his way down the middle of the atrium, the voices dying out as he passed, only to return as hushed whispers moments later. It was the same story every time he came to City Hall – ever since he and his team had stopped the escapees. Ignoring the whispers, Chysaor pushed open the door on the far side of the atrium and passed through the deserted Records Office into the SLD's main-level office without slowing down, nodding to Élodie Carré as he entered. The elevator was already waiting, and he rode it down to the SLD labs with hardly a word spoken. As the elevator door opened, he could hear voices from the closer of the two lab rooms.

"Now I want you to open your index finger," Vernant instructed.

"I've been using my fingers just fine for 25 years," Ray grumbled. "It really shouldn't be so hard."

Chrysaor stopped in the doorway, watching them work. Ray sat on the table with Vernant in front of him, while Ray's fiancée Delphine stood next to Ray, holding his uninjured hand in her own. Ray stared down at his silvery metallic hand with a look of unbelief on his face. Sarsavat "stood" on the far side of the lab room, examining a tablet screen carefully. "Considering that these fingers are artificial, spliced to your nerves in a procedure that took 1324 individual connections and did not actually exist a year ago, precaution is rather important," Chrysaor pointed out.

Ray jumped slightly, his fingers twitching as he looked up at Chrysaor. "I'm just saying," argued Ray, opening and closing his fist as he did so, "it feels like it shouldn't be as complicated as it is. And yet… it feels so… weird. Like, I know that it's not real – it's not my actual hand – but at the same time I can see it, and it's almost like I can feel it." He poked the artificial wrist port with his good hand. "But then I do that, and I don't have any sense of touch in it. I feel my finger touching metal, but I don't feel the wrist being touched. Does that make sense?"

"It makes perfect sense." Chrysaor hummed. "I apologize for that," he told him. "We were able attach the prosthetic to your nerves in order to give you a degree of fine most control over it, but that only allows your nerves to communicate to the prosthetic. I still have not determined a method for the prosthetic to communicate to the nerves. That may be possible in the future. However," he added abruptly, "I am curious… have you tested his proprioception yet?" he asked Vernant.

Vernant shook his head and turned to Ray, who gave him a confused look. "Close your eyes," Vernant instructed him. "Now use your biological hand to touch your nose with one finger." Ray obeyed immediately, and Vernant nodded. "Now, do the same thing with your prosthetic."

Carefully, moving his metal hand very slowly, Ray closed the prosthetic into a fist, extended the index finger, and touched his nose.

Chrysaor nodded judiciously. "Excellent… I had been unsure if that would work." Ray gave him a confused look, and Chrysaor chuckled. "That means you can tell where it is like any biological body part. Your body recognizes it as an extension of you. At least in this configuration," he added. "We will need to test it further to determine the extent of it, though."

Delphine took Ray's artificial hand and squeezed it. "Thank you," she told Vernant and Chrysaor, blinking back tears. "I–I don't know how to repay you."

Ray looked down at their interlocked fingers and frowned. His shoulders slumped. "I can see that we are holding hands, but I can't actually feel it." Delphine's breathing hitched, and she sniffled. Ray looked up at her with a sad expression. "I'm sorry."

"Perhaps we will be able to improve it once everything returns to some semblance of normal," Chrysaor offered, giving them a sympathetic look. Out of the corner of his eye, he could see Vernant looking at him with a worried expression. On the far side of the lab, Sarsavat let out a low hiss, blinking rapidly.

Shaking her head, Delphine lifted their hands and moved Ray's hand to her cheek, kissing his forearm just below the port that had replaced his wrist. "What we have – it's more than enough," she told him, her eyes shining with unshed tears. "Even just having you…" She wrapped her arms around Ray, hugging him tightly and guiding his head down onto her shoulder. Ray let out a breath, returning the hug.

Chrysaor watched the display of emotion impassively. They had been among the lucky ones. So many had been separated by the evacuation – families, friends… So many of his friends had retreated, and there had been no contact with them since. How were they doing? Were they still safe? They were strong – after everything the Heroes of Paris had accomplished over the years, that much was certain. But was it enough to keep them together after the retreat?

Vernant cleared his throat, fixing Chrysaor with a pointed look, and stepped away from the examination table to give Ray and Delphine some measure of privacy. "I take it that there has been some progress with the phone lines?"

Chrysaor started out of his reverie and nodded. "That is correct," he confirmed. "This morning we finally succeeded in connected the new line to the existing one. Unfortunately, there is still only a single line entering Paris, and it is through the phone system in this building."

"Has it been tested?"

Chrysaor shook his head. "We still cannot connect to the satellite system, so the only way to test it is with a wired phone number outside of Paris."

Stroking his chin, Vernant hummed and looked over at the phone on his desk. "May I test it?"

Chrysaor shrugged. "If you know of someone, it is logical for us to test it before reporting it to Prefect Raincomprix."

Picking up the phone, Vernant dialed a number and pressed the speakerphone button. The phone rang several times before a gruff voice answered.

"Do you have any idea how early it is?"

"What's wrong, Gerry?" Vernant asked, a twinkle in his eye. "Are the fish no longer biting?"

"Wait…" Gerry's voice changed to surprise. "Theo? You're alive!? Oh, god, we've been trying to call you for two months now! Guillaume almost drove up to Paris to comb through the rubble for you! What the hell's going on up there?"

Chrysaor cocked his head at Vernant.

"My daughter-in-law's parents," Vernant mouthed. "South of Arles." Louder he told Gerry, "I am certain you saw the news when the Tarasque formed. It came through here and continued south. The Heroes of Paris and their friends fought it but were forced to retreat to parts unknown. Since then we have been attempting with… mixed results to recover and restore some semblance of order."

"And how is Ginette? I know the kids will be asking after her when I tell them you called."

"Ginette is… not in Paris any longer," Vernant answered, his mouth set in a thin line. "Before the Beasts arrived, I told her to go to her sister's, outside of Versailles. I have not heard from her since."

Gerry hummed. "I'm glad she wasn't there while that… monster was rampaging."

"Agreed."

Gerry let out a breath. "You know, it's actually funny you mentioned the fish," he finally observed. "Because they actually haven't been biting lately."

"No?" Vernant furrowed his brows.

Chrysaor's eyes narrowed, studying the phone carefully, hanging onto every word.

"It's strange," Gerry continued. "There had been less over the last couple weeks, but then I was down on the Rhone the other morning, and it looked like a bunch of the grasses along the riverbank were wilting and dying. And there was this smell of dead fish. And when I looked a little closer, I could even see this green… fog. Hanging over the water. What do you make of it?"

Chrysaor stared at Vernant, eyes wide. "The Tarasque."