Exire Non Permittitur

The morning light stretched long across the stone-paved streets of Avignon. The city still carried the hush of early hours, the quiet before tourists filled the plazas and cafés.

Jessica walked with Olivia and Leanna through the narrow alleys, the note from last night still folded in her jacket pocket.

“This is not the first time we have met.”

She had spent the night thinking about it, running the words through her head over and over, searching for something, anything, that made sense. She came up with nothing. So instead of trying to solve the note, she turned to the only lead they had left. The names in the archive. And the first name on the list. The Name That Shouldn’t Exist

Inside a small café, Olivia’s tablet glowed between them, casting a faint blue light over the worn wooden table. She scrolled, fingers tapping against the glass, scanning centuries-old records, death certificates, and obscure references in Vatican logs.

Jessica watched, her fingers lightly drumming against her coffee cup.

Finally, Olivia stopped. Her voice was quiet. “Found something.”

Jessica and Leanna leaned in. Olivia turned the screen toward them, showing an old record from 1415. A man named Iacopo di San Luca.

Jessica’s eyes flicked to the entry. He was a Templar executed for heresy. Nothing unusual there. The Church had erased the Templars in the 1300s. But what made this strange was what came next.

The name Iacopo di San Luca appeared again in 1592. And again in 1740. And again in 1857. And again in 1923.

Jessica’s breath stilled. It was the same name. Spanning five centuries. And next to each entry, the same Latin inscription as her own:

Exire non permittitur.

Not permitted to leave.

Leanna exhaled through her nose. “That’s impossible.”

Olivia’s fingers hovered over the screen. “It gets worse.”

She scrolled down, then tapped another file. It was a blurry photograph of a handwritten document from 1923. Jessica’s stomach tightened as she read it. It was a Vatican intelligence report that described an interrogation of a prisoner brought to the Church. A man who had appeared in Avignon, claiming memories that did not belong to him. The prisoner’s name? Iacopo di San Luca.

Again, Jessica sat back, fingers tightening around her coffee cup. She stared at the name on the screen, the letters blurring together.

Jessica’s voice was quiet. “What happened to him?”

Olivia exhaled. “That’s where the trail goes cold.”

Jessica frowned. “There’s no record of his execution?”

Olivia shook her head. “None. He was detained by Vatican intelligence in 1923, questioned about his knowledge of Templar history, and then…”

She gestured at the empty space on the screen. “Nothing. No death record. No burial. He just… disappears.”

A dish shattered in the café’s kitchen, the sound sharp and sudden. Jessica didn’t flinch. The world kept breaking in small ways. Just never where it mattered.

Her mind worked through the implications. The same name, appearing again and again through history. Not just someone named after him. The same person. And the last trace of him was an interrogation. An interrogation by the same kind of people who had left her that note last night.

“This is not the first time we have met.”

Jessica exhaled. What if the note wasn’t about the Protectors? What if it was about him? Maybe he wasn’t just a warning. Maybe he was a version of her, trapped in a past she hadn’t lived yet.

She tapped the screen. “We need to find out what happened after 1923.”

Leanna nodded. “Where do we start?”

Jessica looked at Olivia. “Vatican intelligence has a field office in Paris, right?”

Olivia hesitated, then nodded slowly.

Jessica smirked faintly. “Looks like we’re going to Paris.”

* * *

The café had started filling with people, the morning rush spilling into the streets. Jessica sat back, running a hand through her hair.

Leanna watched her carefully. “You okay?”

Jessica gave a small laugh, shaking her head. “No. But let’s keep going anyway.”

She reached for her jacket, slipping the note into her pocket. She wasn’t done yet. And neither was the past.