“Why, are you looking for a screw?” Torrie replies with a short laugh. Alejo was very good looking, underneath the bruises, but she’s never been the kind of woman that went weak at the knees over a pretty face. Besides that, she’d been more concerned with keeping him breathing. “If you wanted to see for yourself you could stop in on Sol and go looking,” she adds as she stretches to steal a piece of his brownie, and silently dares him with a look to say anything about the theft.
Getting more serious, she settles back into her own seat. “It was a fluke, I’m sure. He was so beat up and swollen, and it isn’t really like me to care about strangers.” She has a funny way sometimes of proving that she cares about anyone. “But I couldn’t just let him die, or get eaten. He was a teacher before, but I don’t think it was his former academic colleagues that left him for dead.” She hadn’t asked who had.
“He was foreign too.” It feels a little weird talking about, but not weird enough for Torrie to change the subject. “I should have brought him to the hospital to begin with, but the tunnels were closer.”