The Man in the Black Coat

Paris was colder than Rome. Jessica pulled her coat tighter around her as she and Olivia stepped off the train at Gare de Lyon, the murmur of the station rising around them. The air smelled of coffee, damp pavement, and metal. The scent of a city that had outlived its own ghosts.

Jessica had spent the train ride reading and re-reading Pasolini’s notes, scanning for anything they had missed. But the answer wasn’t in the words, It was in who Pasolini had been meeting before he died. And now, Jessica and Olivia were walking into the same city, following the same path. Hoping they wouldn’t end up the same way.

* * *

Their lead was thin. All they had to go on was a meeting Pasolini had planned but never made it to. The person he was supposed to see had gone silent after his murder, vanishing from records, slipping out of history as easily as Pasolini had been erased.

Jessica scanned the station.

“You think they’re still alive?” Olivia asked.

Jessica smirked faintly. “Guess we’re about to find out.”

They had arranged a meeting at a café in Montparnasse. But as they stepped toward the taxi line, Jessica caught something out of the corner of her eye. A man was standing too still near the exit, dressed in a black coat, watching them.

Jessica exhaled, keeping her voice low. “We’ve got company.”

Olivia didn’t look directly, she had learned better than that. “Friend or problem?”

Jessica wasn’t sure yet. Then the man moved. Not toward them, but away. He turned, slipping into the crowd, heading toward the nearest exit. Jessica felt the pull of instinct. She knew that they must follow him.

“This way,” she muttered, already moving.

Olivia sighed. “And here we go.”

* * *

Jessica followed the man out of the station and into the cold Parisian streets, the rhythm of her steps matching his. He never looked back. He didn’t need to. He knew she was following. By the time he cut down a quiet side street, Jessica had already caught up.

“Do I know you?” she called.

The man stopped. Slowly, he turned. And Jessica felt her pulse kick up. She did know him. He was from Vatican Intelligence. They had met before, not as friends.

His expression was unreadable. “Sanchez.”

Jessica tilted her head, ignoring the fact that Olivia had just caught up behind her, breath fogging in the cold. “You’re a long way from home,” Jessica murmured.

The man studied her. “So are you.”

Jessica crossed her arms. “You following us, or is this a coincidence?”

His mouth twitched. “There are no coincidences.”

Jessica exhaled slowly.

“You already know why we’re here,” she said.

The man nodded. “And I know what you found.”

She didn’t flinch, but her mind drifted to the ledger, then name, and the year. He thought he was handing her a revelation. To Jessica, it was just a shadow she’d carried for years. What mattered was how much he believed she remembered.

Jessica kept her voice steady. “So tell me. Who else knows?”

The man took a slow step forward. In a voice just above a whisper, “Everyone who still cares what you remember.”

Jessica held his gaze. Olivia was silent beside her, waiting. Jessica had spent years playing this game. And this? This wasn’t a threat. It was a warning.

“You’re in the wrong city,” the man said finally.

Jessica arched her brow. “That so?”

His expression remained still.

“If you want the truth, you’re looking in the wrong place.”

Jessica exhaled through her nose. “Then where should I be looking?”

A pause. Then, quietly, “Avignon.”

Jessica felt something click into place.

Olivia frowned. “The Vatican moved to Avignon in the 14th century.”

The man nodded. “And some things never left.”

Jessica felt the cold settle deeper into her skin. Back to Avignon. That was where this was leading. Where Pasolini had been looking. Where the next answer waited.

Jessica glanced at Olivia. They both knew what came next. When she turned back, the man was already gone.

* * *

Jessica sat on the edge of the bed. The conversation from earlier was still spinning in her head. She didn’t believe in fate. Didn’t believe in prophecy. But this wasn't a coincidence. This was the past dragging her toward something, whether she wanted it or not

Her phone felt heavy in her hand. Sam’s number glowed on the screen, the cursor blinking like a heartbeat. One press and she’d hear his voice, steady, warm, the sound of someone who’d already carried too much and still hadn’t broken.

She could almost hear it now. He wouldn’t ask questions. Not at first. He’d just be there.

And maybe that was the problem. If she called him tonight, she wouldn’t hang up. She’d start talking. Too much. She’d start giving away the things she had sworn to keep to herself. The things they were all circling, waiting to hear her admit.

Jessica lowered the phone, face-down on the table.

The city outside kept breathing without her, cars on wet streets, footsteps in the courtyard, the distant hiss of rain on stone. She stepped out onto the balcony, letting the cold press against her skin until her pulse slowed.

Not tonight. Because tonight wasn’t about comfort. Tonight was about holding the silence, keeping the truth where it belonged, locked in her, and nowhere else.