The sun was just starting to rise outside. Élise knew from experience Timothee would be up soon. He never slept in, no matter the stresses of life. Very different from herself, she could sleep sixteen hours after an overly eventful day.
Arno was next to her. They both sat together on the couch, waiting to deliver the news.
Sure enough, she began to hear feet against the floor boards above.
Timothee descended the steps, night gown on, shaved head wigless. As he reached the bottom of the stairs, they caught his eyes. So did the slightly blood-stained roll of paper in Élise's hand.
"You did it!" he exclaimed. "You found some intelligence!"
"She did all the work, actually," Arno said.
"Très bien, let me see it!" He strolled over excitedly.
He took the map from Élise and unfurled it.
The name inscribed on the top was the first thing that commanded his attention.
"Guy-Marcel Rodet," he repeated foggily.
"You know him?"
"No, I'm afraid not. Although it would not surprising if a defector from our order changed his name...And it looks like they were going to Marseille."
"I also overheard something about Brittany, too."
His brow was furrowed, as if deep in thought. "Both of those are port cities, perfect sites for an international collaboration."
He continued brooding. Élise felt the need to interject. "I had to kill three people to get my hands on this. The Illuminati are sure to know we're onto them."
That news did not seem to phase him much. He continued stewing over the map. Then he looked up. "I'll consult with the other Templars. Perhaps they know this name, Rodet. Good work, both of you!" He turned and walked towards briskly the kitchen.
"Élise did all the -" Arno began, but let his voice fade out into a meek little whimper.