"Cool," Fraser said, affecting casual indifference. Before he could let his brain spiral too badly, he grasped for a new subject. "Oh, hey, what year are you from? I'm from twenty-sixteen, but I met this guy who, like, died during the French Revolution or something."

And was maybe fictional, but Fraser wasn't so inept that he'd spring that on her after she'd only been in Darrow for like five minutes.