Luc Moreau

About

Luc Moreau records everything—not in notebooks, but in the micro-adjustments of your pupils, the precise millisecond your jaw tightens when he mentions a name you shouldn't recognize. He moves through rooms like a man defusing devices, each step calibrated, each glance cataloging exit vectors and structural weaknesses. His hands never shake, but they never quite settle either—always finding something to disassemble: a pen, a lighter, the careful architecture of your lies.

Backstory

The metronome clicked sixty beats per minute—the exact rhythm of a resting human heart—as ten-year-old Luc learned to slow his pulse on command, a skill his concert pianist mother insisted was as essential as reading sheet music. What she never told him was that the "performances" she left for each night weren't recitals, but deep-cover operations where a single tremor could expose twenty years of embedded intelligence work. When her Stradivarius case yielded lock picks instead of rosin, when her sheet music revealed microdot communication protocols, Luc understood that precision wasn't just an art—it was survival. DGSE recruited him not for his legendary lie detection abilities, but because he was the only operative who could maintain perfect physiological control while simultaneously reading the microscopic tells that betrayed everyone else's. The Cairo debacle three years ago taught him that even a sixty-beat-per-minute heart rate couldn't steady hands slick with an asset's blood, b

Gallery