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“Only when somebody breaks into my house and gives me a bullshit explanation.”

I glare at him.

He waits.

Finally, he shakes his head.

“Sweetheart, you're going to need a better story.”

“Are you calling me a liar?”

“I'm saying you're a lousy burglar.”

“That wasn't the question.”

“No,” he agrees. “It wasn't.”

He could push harder.

Instead, he stands.

“We'll come back to it.”

“That's it?”

“For now.”

I don't like how easily he changes tactics.

He's figured out that I'm hiding something, and he's willing to wait until I make a mistake.

I know the approach. I've used it myself.

Razor returns with water and a warning to rest.

Torch convinces him to let me sit in the main room, provided I don't overdo things.

I follow them out, trying not to examine every door and camera along the way.

Old habits.

Near the bar, a woman is speaking quietly on her phone.

“No, honey. Listen to me. You can stay there tonight.”

Something in her tone catches my attention.

“You don't need to go back for your clothes. We'll work that out tomorrow.”

She listens.

“That's what the shelter is for. You're safe. Let us worry about the rest.”

The woman ends her call, turns, and smiles when she sees Torch.

“Hey, Torch.”

“McKenna. This is Madison.”