The cabinet gathered before noon.
Not in the grand salons of the Élysée, but in a narrow chamber buried beneath the west wing no windows, no recording, just iron light and coffee that had gone cold too early.
No aides.
No press.
Only chairs and thick dossiers.
Moreau entered last.
Still in his military coat.
Still silent.
He didn't wait for greetings.
"Let's begin."
They rose.
He waved them down.
Vincent Auriol was first.
"Tribunal work is going good in regional level. We're still tracing loyalty chains at those grassroots level. Names from the army and ministries. It is hard but it's working."
Moreau nodded. "Good."
Jean Zay spoke next.
"We've reopened one hundred seventy-four schools more. We're including food lines. Some of these children haven't seen eggs in two years."
"And literacy?"
"Books are late. But we have teachers. We're calling them peacekeepers now."
"Good," Moreau said. "Education is repair."
Mendès France leaned forward.
