Chapter 14: The Vault

The vineyard was unmarked. The kind of place you'd drive past without thinking, unless someone taught you how to see.

A driver dropped me at the gates. No instructions. No guards. Just a name.

I let myself in.

The path curved downhill, beneath ivy and old stone, until it reached a metal door flush with the earth. Weathered, hidden, waiting.

The key fit perfectly.

Inside, silence.

No security system. No blinking lights. Just temperature, pressure, and time doing their work.

And in the centre: a single box.

I knew what was in it before I opened it.

The third watch.

Unworn. Unsized. Pristine. It still had the soft film across the caseback, still smelled like the inside of a safe.

It was untouched.

Because he had never touched it. Not after everything fell apart.

But it wasn’t the only thing in the box.

Beneath it, folded flat, was a sketch. Hand-drawn. Slightly frayed at the edges.

It wasn’t labelled. But I recognised the lines.

A structure. Angular. Open. Part architecture, part philosophy. Like someone had tried to design a space not just to show time, but to respect it.

It wasn’t meant for watches.

It was meant for meaning.

There was a note paperclipped to the bottom corner. Written in Rivière’s hand:

“This was what ARC was always meant to become. Not a company. A statement. But I never got to finish it. If you’re reading this, maybe you can.”

I sat there for a long time. Watch in hand. Note open. World quiet.

He hadn’t left me a map.

He’d left me a mirror.