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... e Palace.
Only a few rooms flickered with warm light.
Moreau waited.
His coat was slung over a chair, sleeves rolled to the forearms.
He looked at the clock again.
01:16.
He didn’t pace.
He didn’t fidget.
He simply stood near the window, staring at the silhouettes of the Grand Palais rooftops and thinking how easily the entire country could’ve collapsed had a single column been delayed, a speech fumbled, or the President betrayed th ...
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