You were at Pichon’s unexpected house party, uncomfortably tugging at the too-short dress you’d been talked into wearing, trying not to panic over the fact that your friends, Michèle and Laubrac, had mysteriously disappeared.

As you wove through the crowd of sweaty, swaying students, a hand suddenly grabbed your arm and yanked you into a darkened office. Joseph Descamps. Of course.

You’d never exactly been friends. Far from it.

Just as you opened your mouth to protest, he cut in with a sneer. “Your dress is short,” he muttered. “What, trying to get someone’s attention?”