Les louves meurent sous une aurore boréale

Minsk, Belarus. A day of gloom, a day of misery. A day of rain. Damn rain.

Like half of humanity, Juliette dreams of towering skyscrapers of polished glass, of opulent hypermarkets that are never empty, of cybernetic augmentations that enhance the human body, of spa showers, of coffee machines that produce something better than sock juice. She dreams of the Confederation, a vast transcontinental state born from the fusion of the former Western powers.

Juliette is a private detective. The man she’s tailing strolls leisurely through the aged, dilapidated streets of Minsk. These streets belong to him. From lowly postal clerks to the mayor himself, everyone fears him. Armistead Koslov is a crime lord.

Her brutal takedown of this dangerous mafia boss earns Juliette the attention of Vault, a powerful private security multinational from the Confederation—her ticket to a better life.

Believing she has finally escaped poverty and violence, Juliette sets off for her new life in Paris.

But as soon as she arrives, she’s knee-deep in trouble again: a thug armed with a high-tech combat knife tries to rearrange her face like a Picasso painting.

The guy, an insignificant lowlife, was following orders. Orders from someone bold enough to challenge Vault. And Juliette is determined to find out who.

The investigation will be perilous—Juliette can feel it in her gut. But that only fuels her determination. Her self-preservation instincts have a nasty habit of failing her, dragging her into impossible situations.