The New Year’s Eve tragedy at Le Constellation bar in Crans-Montana, Switzerland, stands as one of the deadliest nightclub fires in recent European history. On the night of December 31, 2025, into January 1, 2026, what began as a glamorous celebration in an upscale alpine venue turned into a scene of unimaginable horror. Flames erupted suddenly, fueled by flammable materials, trapping scores of revelers inside. By the time the inferno was brought under control, 40 lives had been lost, and more than 100 people were injured—many suffering severe burns that will scar them physically and emotionally for life.
At the heart of this devastating story is Cyane Panine, a 24-year-old French waitress whose final moments have become the focal point of grief, anger, and explosive allegations. Cyane, described by her devastated parents as “a ray of sunshine” who lit up every room she entered, was not just any employee at Le Constellation. She was viewed by the bar’s owners, Jacques and Jessica Moretti, as “like family”—even spending Christmas with them just days before the disaster. Yet, according to her parents Astrid and JerĂ´me Panine, the very people who treated her as a stepdaughter may have contributed to her death—and the deaths of 39 others—through reckless decisions that prioritized profit over safety.
The fire’s origin has been traced, through interrogation transcripts obtained by Swiss media outlet Tages-Anzeiger, to Cyane herself—though entirely accidentally. On that fateful night, as the party reached its peak, the bar owners reportedly instructed staff to amp up the atmosphere for the New Year’s countdown. Cyane, ever the enthusiastic and dutiful employee, was asked to carry two lit sparklers while perched on a colleague’s shoulders. Wearing a helmet for what was likely intended as a fun, theatrical touch, she raised the sparklers high. Sparks flew upward, igniting soundproofing foam or other flammable material on the ceiling. Within moments, fire raced across the room, turning celebration into chaos.
Panic ensued as thick smoke filled the basement-level venue. Partygoers rushed toward exits, but many found their paths blocked or obstructed. Among those trapped was Cyane. She died behind what her parents insist was a deliberately locked emergency exit—an allegation that has ignited fury across France and Switzerland.
Astrid Panine, Cyane’s mother, spoke out in a raw interview with France 3 Occitanie, her voice trembling with a mix of sorrow and outrage. “Jacques had closed the emergency exit because he was afraid people would come in without paying,” she said. “The tables cost 1,000 euros. And if you can’t even put a guard at that door… If the door had been open, maybe there wouldn’t have been deaths.” The claim is chilling: that a secondary exit—meant to save lives in emergencies—was bolted shut as a crude anti-gatecrashing measure to protect the bar’s high-priced table reservations.
JerĂ´me Panine, Cyane’s father, echoed the pain that has consumed the family. “There’s a time for sadness and a time for accountability and anger,” he said. “I think the anger will quickly take over. She was a ray of sunshine for everyone. For us, the sun didn’t rise again in 2026.” The parents buried their daughter in Sète, France, on Saturday, January 11, 2026, in a ceremony that drew mourners from across the region. Photos of Cyane smiling brightly, often in her work uniform or with friends, circulated online—reminders of a young life full of promise extinguished far too soon.
Jacques Moretti, the bar’s owner, has admitted in statements to investigators that a door—described by him as a “service door” rather than explicitly an emergency exit—was “locked from the inside and on a latch” during the blaze. He claimed it was not normally secured that way and that he forced it open upon returning to the scene. What he found was heartbreaking: a pile of unconscious bodies, including Cyane’s, suffocated in the smoke. Jacques and Cyane’s boyfriend desperately tried to resuscitate her on the street outside, performing CPR for over an hour until paramedics arrived and pronounced her beyond help.
Yet these admissions have done little to quell the growing storm of criticism. Former staff and locals have come forward with accounts suggesting safety lapses were routine at Le Constellation. One former bartender reportedly told media that the emergency exit “was always locked” whenever they worked there, a practice known among regulars in Crans-Montana. Another claimed the venue had not undergone a proper fire safety inspection in five years, raising questions about how such a popular spot in a wealthy ski resort could operate with apparent disregard for basic regulations.
The Morettis’ actions in the immediate aftermath have only fueled suspicion. Jessica Moretti, Jacques’ wife and co-owner, is under investigation for allegedly fleeing the burning building with the till full of cash—driving away quickly as the fire raged. While the couple have portrayed themselves as devastated, insisting Cyane was treated “like a stepdaughter,” the contrast between their personal affection for her and the alleged safety shortcuts has left many questioning their priorities.
Swiss authorities have moved swiftly. Jacques Moretti is currently in custody, facing charges of manslaughter by negligence, among others. Prosecutors deem him a flight risk, ensuring he will remain behind bars for at least three months ahead of a trial scheduled for March 2026. The investigation continues into broader failures: Were fire extinguishers accessible? Did staff receive proper training? Why were flammable materials allowed near open flames in a crowded venue? The scale of the disaster—40 dead, many young people in their teens and 20s—has prompted calls for a full reckoning.
Survivors’ stories paint a vivid, terrifying picture. One woman recounted to reporters seeing flames lick across the ceiling as people screamed and pushed toward the main exit. Others described choking on smoke, pounding on doors that wouldn’t budge, and watching friends collapse around them. Some managed to escape with burns and trauma; others never made it out. The human cost is staggering: families shattered, futures erased, communities in mourning.
For Astrid and JerĂ´me Panine, the fight is deeply personal. “I’m not angry,” Astrid said, though her words carry the weight of suppressed fury. “I just want this to stop, I want this to never happen again.” Their plea is universal: that no other parents should endure the agony of losing a child to preventable negligence. They demand accountability—not vengeance, but justice—so that lessons are learned and similar tragedies avoided.
This is not merely a story of a tragic accident; it is a cautionary tale about greed, oversight, and the deadly consequences when safety is treated as an afterthought. In the glittering world of alpine nightlife, where champagne flows and tables command exorbitant prices, the price paid on New Year’s Eve was far higher than any cover charge. Forty lives lost, countless more forever changed, and one young woman’s light extinguished—all because, allegedly, a door that could have meant salvation was shut to keep out those unwilling to pay.
As the investigation unfolds and the trial approaches, the world watches. Will justice bring closure to grieving families? Or will it expose deeper systemic failures in how entertainment venues prioritize profit over people? For the Panines, and for all who lost loved ones that night, the answers cannot come soon enough. The sun may not have risen for them in 2026, but their voices ensure this darkness will not be forgotten.
