"We have a safe house."
"A safe house?" Luigi let out a dry, cold laugh. "You're students, not secret agents. Do you have any idea what the penalty is for harboring a Federation fugitive?"
"This isn't Washington," Ben retorted. "This is the Brooklyn District."
"The landlords, the shop owners, even the homeless people here—they've all been screwed over by the insurance companies. They all despise those bloodsucking vampires in suits."
"We know someone."
Ben thought of Granny Rosa.
The Latina woman who lived on the top floor of an old apartment building, whose husband had killed himself after the insurance company denied his claim.
"She has an attic nobody knows about. She'd be more than happy to offer you a bed and some hot soup."
Luigi looked at the two young people.
Their eyes were filled with something he found unfamiliar.
It was hope.
Or perhaps some kind of blind fanaticism.
They didn't know him, but they identified with him.
