31Simone kept running even though she heard no footsteps behind her. She was trying to get somewhere less solitary, somewhere with so many people she would be safe, and then she could call the police. But on the night of the gala at L’Institut Degas, everything was closed. Everything. She ran past Chez Papa—dark. Same with the other bars and restaurants on the Place. It was nearing midnight and she could think of absolutely no place to go except back to the gala.
She stopped abruptly and looked behind her. The street and sidewalks were empty. The street dark, the pavement damp from a brief shower. The shapes of buildings deeply familiar as she had lived in Castillac all her life.
She waited until she had caught her breath. Still no one.
And then, because she didn’t know what else to do,
