The French, the French, and Neoma

Neoma could feel the sadness rolling off him, and she knew if she focused, she'd be able to see his grief clear as a splinter. The French didn't get money directly, yet she couldn't stop feeling like she was funding the idea of them. Neoma slowed and picked up a small box of detergent, feigning interest in the instructions to track him from the corner of her eye. He was well-dressed, but not overly so. She looked at her, confused, not sure why he was so drawn to her.