This story started here.

Carly looked around the tiny room. It was smaller than she'd imagined, with three walls of concrete and one of brick, an uneven concrete floor and a low ceiling of exposed beams and rusted pipes. But it had been made quite home-like, with books piled around, a small camping stove, two broken old armchairs and an ancient army cot which looked like it wouldn't even hold her weight, let alone the portly body of their host.

He had his back to them, working over the camping stove. He was probably not much taller than she was, but quite a bit wider, draped in various worn items of clothing and bedding. Finally, trying to be as casual as possible, she looked up at the tall man. He was watching their host, pretending (she thought) to be unaware of her gaze.

He was tall and broad, with dark hair and heavy eyebrows. He looked very fit and tan, wearing a dark suit and a trench coat. She was wondering how in the world he got his hair so perfectly trimmed and combed when he looked down at winked at her. She almost punched him, but it seemed it would be about as productive as punching one of the walls.

He stood up and stretched, as well as he could in the constricted space with the ceilings barely higher than his head. "No offense to Ms. Stein," he rumbled, "but that little bench was griping my butt."

He turned and grinned down at her. "So, Ms. Stein, do you have a story for us or don't you?"

She nodded. "Yeah, I've got a story."

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