It started out as a question—Why would a college dropout want to dig up a Parisian grave?
“She wants to know who you are,” Matt told me, as I took a hesitant seat. I didn’t need to hear the woman say a word to know she had distaste for me. I didn’t blame her, either–I was a stranger living in her basement.
“I’m Lucy,” I mumbled, keeping my gaze on the table. “I’m nineteen. I’m here for a job.”
Matt smiled. “I think she wants more detail than that.”