That sounds a little too much like the constant normal. She would have said that was what it was back where and when she'd come from. But something else sweeps in there more importantly and far more easily pickable. Arguable. Her forehead furrows even as he says it; Jo may not have done more than a semester at college, but one did not need college to know that didn't add up.

"That doesn't make sense." She ticks it off with a finger out. "You're what, 17-18 at most?"

Way too fresh-faced for what Jo even expected of someone that old, but hell, she avoided most of the world where she could have unless she needed them to foster the next step on one of her hunts. But ages weren't hard. At 17-18, she'd still been in high school, surrounded by kids her age, even that number was all they had in common, and they existed in wholly different worlds: one that was real and one that was a paltry oblivious lie.