.34. ɪɴ ᴡʜɪᴄʜ ᴡᴇ ᴛᴀᴋᴇ ʏᴏᴜ ᴛᴏ ᴘᴀʀɪs, ᴛʜᴇ ᴄɪᴛʏ ᴏғ ʟɪɢʜᴛs ᴀɴᴅ ᴘʀᴏᴛᴇsᴛ ᴍᴀʀᴄʜᴇs

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Paris, the so-called city of Lights and of Love, would have been an enjoyable layover were it not for the facts that A) that young traveller in his black trench coat was on a rather tight schedule, which only left him little over an hour to reach Gare de Lyon in order to board the Orient-Steam-Express to Milan, and B) in true French fashion, the good people of Paris had taken over the streets of the city to protest the newly built Tower, which, according to some of the placards, was not only ugly but also provided way too much shade to the surrounding neighbourhoods.

"Isn't there another way?" he asked the driver of the pricey taxicab he had managed to grab after a half-hour wait in line and a fair dose of smooth talking a fellow tourist also heading toward the southern train station. They had been standing still for several minutes now, and the flow of demonstrators walking by did not look like it was about to ebb any time soon.

The driver turned around and gave his impatient passenger a knowing wink. "There are always other ways, Monsieur. But they require other fees."

The young man heaved a disgruntled sigh. Missing his train would cost him a lot more than the extra hundred francs he was being extorted into paying. "Fine. Just get us there on time."

It turned out those hundred francs had been an invaluable investment for no sooner did our young traveller set foot onto the side footboard of the luxurious sleeper that the steam trumpet whistled off, warning passengers of its imminent departure.

Without bothering to look for his seat, the young man proceeded toward the dining car, in need of a well-deserved pick-me-up. As he placed his order, he realized he hadn't packed any reading material. The journey was bound to be a long one. Unless he could get a hold of a few newspapers like the ones he saw displayed on the service trolley earlier.

In the meantime, he could always reexamine the card he received last week, although by now, he could recite it by heart.

Detective,

Congratulations on the shiny medal. I trust you won't let it get to your head.

As the self-proclaimed eternal optimist that I am, it is my hope this letter doesn't find you. Should it, however, reach you somehow, then my only question is this: WHAT ARE YOU STILL DOING HERE?

Regards,

Kim Namjoon

PS: I'll be on the continent for the next couple of months, on a book tour. (Yes, the novel was finally released!) I look forward to seeing you both when I return to London.

Jeon Jungkook did not even try to suppress the beam growing on his face at the author's blatant exhortation. Namjoon had been right. Of course he had. What in the Queen's name had Jungkook been doing in London all this time when he had a Kim Taehyung to run to? The young man had known for a while where to start his search for the missing bachelor. But with Rieken's arrest, his testimony had been required.

And then he had been offered a job at Scotland Yard. It took him a while to figure out he didn't want it.

Then came the call from Buckingham Palace, which caused Lizbeth to pass out. He had immediately brought her to the hospital where she had recovered promptly. Thankfully.

What with one thing and another, three months passed.

Kim Taehyung was still missing and he hadn't done a single thing about it. Jungkook was about to get another drink to subdue his ever-growing guilt when the trolley lady walked by. "May I," he asked, pointing at some of the French newspapers. He did not read a lot of French, but now was as good a time as ever to practice.

"Of course, sir. Please help yourself."

Fortunately for our favorite detective, language skills were not required to decipher today's headlines. The three papers he had picked all featured on their front page a picture of Claude Monet's painting entitled Sentier dans les coquelicots, île Saint-Martin. Though far from being the artist's most well-known artwork, its sudden publicity was due to the fact that it somehow had gone missing from the Louvre museum exhibit the day prior.



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