The music from the rooftop was just a dull hum now. The Paris air had turned colder, or maybe that was just Shruti, barefoot on the pavement, clutching her heels in her hand as she tried to flag down a taxi.Her head swam. The champagne blurred her vision, her steps uncertain.A black car whizzed by, ignoring her outstretched hand. Her phone had fallen somewhere back at the bar and she couldn’t find it. Or care enough to.Then came voices—too smooth, too close.“Bonsoir, mademoiselle,” a man said with a smirk, stepping into her path. His friend flanked her from the side.