The Choice of the Stars

Shapers of the Morning

By: Fabienne Paquin

Narrated by: Virtual Voice

The conference room was bathed in sterile white light, the kind that flattened every face and made even excitement look clinical. Around the oval table, the senior researchers sat in silence, their gazes anchored not on each other, but on the small metallic case at the center.
It looked unremarkable, almost disappointingly so—no larger than a lunchbox, brushed steel with reinforced locks. And yet, it carried a weight that thickened the air.
“Dr. Léa Morel,” began the director at the head of the table, his voice low but deliberate. “You have been selected to present our recent work at Heidelberg University. A brief lecture, but a crucial one.”
Léa straightened in her chair. She had expected as much—her last series of experiments had drawn quite attention in the department. Still, being handpicked for such a prestigious platform sent a ripple of pride through her.
The director’s hand hovered over the case. “You will be taking a sample. A rare mineral, recently identified in a meteorite impact site in Karelia.” He paused, his eyes narrowing almost imperceptibly. “Officially, it is classified as a form of shungite. Unusual in purity, but within the boundaries of known science.”
Léa frowned
“Shungite isn’t exactly groundbreaking,” she replied cautiously. “It’s been catalogued and studied for decades.”
A faint smile touched his lips—cold, withholding.
“Let’s say this sample possesses properties not yet… publicized. Your role is to demonstrate its potential in a safe, academic context.”
Before she could press further, another member of the committee leaned forward. His voice carried an undercurrent of warning.
“Above all, Dr. Morel, be careful. This case must not leave your side, under any circumstances.”
Léa blinked. The tone unsettled her—too sharp, almost military in its precision. In her years at the institute, she had never heard research framed in those terms.
She opened her mouth to ask why, but the director silenced her with a gesture. “Your flight is tomorrow morning. Arrangements have been made. You will not be traveling alone.”
The door opened. A man entered—tall, composed, his step measured, as if he had already assessed the entire room before taking his place. His gaze was hidden behind lightly tinted glasses.
“Marc Delattre,” the director introduced. “He will be responsible for your security.”
Léa stared at the newcomer, taken aback.
“My security? For a university seminar?”
Marc said nothing, extending his hand. His grip was firm, professional, and brief. No introduction, no small talk.
She felt a shiver, though whether from unease or annoyance she couldn’t say. Around them, the white light hummed, clinical and unforgiving.
The case, resting quietly on the table, seemed to vibrate in her peripheral vision—as if it already contained a secret far greater than any of them dared to admit.