Her features crinkle. “The students here are quite competitive. After Angela obtained her internship, she was quieter, less present at events, and I’m not sure if that changed things.”

“Less present? When was that? Could you explain, please?”

Delphine casts about for the proper words. “Do you speak French?”

“Not well. But Jean-Luc does.” I turn to my companion and wave him into the ring.

He slides forward to the edge of his armchair. “Oui, Madame Rousseau.”

They launch into conversation at a speed too fast for me to comprehend. As Jean-Luc asks a question and Delphine elaborates, gratitude mingles with a sense of practicality. I needed someone—anyone, since Seb is no longer an option—for exactly this reason.

“Okay.” Jean-Luc turns to me. “After Angela began her internship with the Archaeology Society—”

“Wait, I barely know about that,” I begin, remembering Seb’s quick explanation. “She wasn’t studying archaeology.”

“No, she was doing research on urban planning in the catacombs. The Archaeology Society manages a team of people doing maintenance work in the tunnels. Dr. Leroux chose Angela to join them on projects after visiting hours, about a year ago.”

“Has anyone spoken to Leroux? Could I?” We both look at Delphine.

“I suppose. I don’t know him personally, but you might try contacting him via the university online portal.”

“I’ll do that. What else?” I turn back to Jean-Luc.

“Angela became more involved with the society,” he resumes. “Spending virtually all her free time there, and when she did manage to come to seminars, Angela was distracted. She wasn’t participating like before.”

Delphine wears a weak smile. “That is correct. Angela was obsessed with her subject. She started taking mapping classes to deepen her understanding of the city’s tunnels.”

“Why would people hate her for that?”

Delphine hugs herself tighter. “They did not hate her. They envied her. A terrorist group claimed responsibility for the shooting—did you know? The shooter, the young man, joined the Red Brothers only the year prior. There has been a rise in nationalism here in France, like all of Europe at the moment. The United States, too. Many immigrant demographics here feel disenfranchised as a result of that rise, and the Red Brothers capitalized on that.”

She pauses, likely inviting me to comment on the recent us-first mentality at home, but all I can picture is the swastika tattoo on the checkout clerk I encountered my first night here. Does what she’s saying mean there are more nationalists, Nazi sympathizers, or neo-Nazis in Paris? A new wave of extremists under fifty years old, like my cashier?

“In any case—” She sighs. “Internal conflict boils as a result. Angela exuded the kind of social ease and grace that epitomizes equality, the freedom to move between cities and countries that many citizens of France still do not enjoy.”