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That tells me something about her.

Perhaps even something about the club.

But a club can do worthwhile things without every member being trustworthy.

And I still have no idea what Torch did four years ago.

Torch brings me a sandwich.

I accept it because I'm hungry, and because arguing over food seems like a waste of perfectly good energy.

For a while, we sit in relative silence.

I catch him watching me twice.

The third time, I put my sandwich down.

“Do I have something on my face?”

“No.”

“Then why are you staring?”

“Trying to figure you out.”

“How's that going?”

“Slow.”

“Must be your age.”

His eyebrows rise.

“How old do you think I am?”

“Old enough to know better than to invite strangers through your windows.”

He goes still.

Then a slow smile appears.

“Invite them?”

I frown.

“You know what I mean.”

“Do I?”

Something about his expression makes me pause.

I think about that morning.

How easily the kitchen window opened.

I'd been so pleased to find a way inside that I hadn't questioned it.

Now I look at the man sitting across from me.