Shadows of liberty (Book 6 of the Legacy of Love Series)

Chapter 7: The Committee's Eyes

The headquarters of the Committee of Public Safety was as cold and unyielding as the ideals it claimed to defend. Jean-Luc moved through the crowded corridors with a practiced ease, his expression carefully neutral, his gaze forward. He could feel the watchful eyes of his fellow revolutionaries on him, a quiet, unspoken suspicion that had grown in recent days. He had always been steadfast, a figure of unrelenting dedication, yet he sensed the shift, the subtle glances, the way conversations grew quiet as he passed.

Marcel Dupont, his longtime comrade and a fervent believer in the Revolution's harsh methods, waited for him near the end of the hall. There was a familiar intensity in Marcel's gaze, a sharpness that hinted at the questions he had held back for too long.

"Moreau," Marcel greeted him, his voice low but edged with tension. "I wanted a word."

Jean-Luc nodded, feeling the weight of the request, the underlying accusation. "Of course, Marcel," he replied, keeping his tone steady.

They stepped into an empty office, the noise of the bustling Committee receding as the door closed behind them. Marcel turned to him, his arms crossed, his gaze penetrating as he studied Jean-Luc with an intensity that left no room for evasion.

"You've been... distracted," Marcel began, his tone careful, measured. "Your visits to the hospital, your absence from recent meetings... It's not like you."

Jean-Luc forced himself to remain calm, to meet Marcel's gaze without wavering. "My dedication to the Republic is unchanged, Marcel," he replied, his voice steady. "I go to the hospital to ensure that resources are used efficiently, that those who serve the Republic's cause are cared for."

Marcel's expression did not soften, his gaze unrelenting. "And yet, I've heard whispers, Jean-Luc. Whispers that you've been seen with a certain woman, a volunteer. There are those who question whether your intentions remain... uncompromised."

A spark of irritation flared within Jean-Luc, but he forced it down, maintaining his composure. He understood Marcel's loyalty to the cause, the unyielding belief in the Revolution's principles, yet he resented the intrusion, the implication that his commitment was anything less than absolute.

"My loyalty has never wavered," he said firmly, his gaze hardening. "The volunteer you speak of, Citoyenne Fournier, is a woman of integrity, someone who serves tirelessly to aid those who suffer. She is nothing more than a dedicated citizen."

Marcel raised an eyebrow, his skepticism clear. "Nothing more? Are you certain of that, Jean-Luc? There are those who would use kindness as a mask, who hide their true intentions behind acts of compassion."

Jean-Luc felt a flicker of unease, the weight of Marcel's words settling over him like a warning. He had seen that same suspicion countless times before, the doubt that festered within the ranks of the Committee, consuming all who dared to question the rigid ideals they upheld. Yet, he knew Elise was no traitor, no threat to the Republic. She was a woman who had shown him a glimpse of humanity, a reminder of the ideals that had once driven him.

"She is a good person, Marcel," he replied quietly, his voice tinged with an unspoken plea for understanding. "Not everyone who shows compassion is an enemy. Some simply wish to survive, to help where they can."

Marcel's gaze narrowed, his tone sharp. "Compassion, Jean-Luc? Since when did you grow soft?"

Jean-Luc felt the sting of the words, the quiet accusation that lay beneath them. He took a steadying breath, choosing his response carefully. "I am not soft, Marcel. I am loyal to the Republic, to the justice we seek. But I refuse to believe that we must abandon our humanity in pursuit of that justice."