The morning of the summit began quietly, though Paris itself was anything but. From my hotel window, the street below moved with a kind of rhythm that felt choreographed, even though I knew it was just life unfolding. The café across the street had already filled with people balancing cups and conversation, and the sound of bicycle bells cut through the hum of traffic. I had woken early without an alarm, the way I always did when my mind was steady but alert.

Julian was still asleep when I ...