I couldn’t quite put my finger on it, but I was riveted by the two of them, by the way they interacted. It was off somehow. Buzz Cut sat tight, just inside the doorway, until she was invited to join the other girl. And when she did, she kept her voice low and her hands at her sides. I couldn’t quite name her demeanor, but she was well-mannered. Quiet.

Not at all the way she’d been with me, and almost the exact opposite of the way she’d been with Simon.

When she was finished, Buzz Cut waited stiffly for a response, which was also whispered. It made me wish I had super-hearing on top of the whole seeing-in-the-dark thing, because I was dying to know what they were saying.

It was okay, though, because I’d figured something out just by watching them, and I felt stupid for not realizing it sooner.

I waited until Buzz Cut had shut the door, leaving us alone again. “Oh my god,” I accused. “You’re Griffin. You’re the guy we came here to see.” No wonder she knew so much about Simon and Thom. She was the reason we were here. She was the person they thought would help us.

The girl put her hands together once, twice, three times in a long, slow clap as she appraised me, as if seeing me in a whole new light. “And here I was, starting to think you might be on the slow side. Took you long enough.”

I ignored the jab, because it wasn’t like she’d given me a lot to work with, what with the whole you-should-eat act, and the You’re safe, trust me thing. How was I supposed to know she was the one in charge of this operation? “What kind of name is Griffin? For a girl, I mean?” I jabbed back.

Her expression closed off. “My dad wanted a son. I was something of a disappointment.”

It was a sad answer, if it was an honest one, and it made me wonder how old she was, or where she’d been born. The idea of being a letdown simply because of your gender was foreign to me, completely antiquated. I could hardly fathom it.

My dad had never made me feel anything but wanted, loved . . . cherished. Suddenly the comment about her name made me feel like I’d sucker-punched her for no good reason. “Sorry,” I said, wishing I could take it back. “I didn’t mean . . .”

She tried waving it off. “Don’t give it a second thought. I don’t. Water under the bridge, so to speak. Old news.” But the waver in her voice made me think it wasn’t such old news.

She recovered like a champ, and came back with that same smile she’d been wearing when she’d first walked in, like she was trying for a do-over. “So here’s the thing,” she said. “I feel like we’ve gotten off on the wrong foot. What can I do to fix that?” I wondered if she knew how transparent she was.

But I wanted answers, and maybe if I played along, I could get a few before she revealed her true intentions.

What was it Thom had said? There was always an end game with Griffin.

I plucked up a slice of apple and leaned back on the bench. I had to tread carefully. Griffin wasn’t stupid. “So if you guys were friends—you and Simon and Thom—then why are we being treated like this? Why ambush us at all?”

She took her spot on the bench again, facing me, and I tried to gauge her reaction. She was definitely suspicious, and regarded me warily. If we’d been predators, it would have been hard to tell just who was circling who. But I knew she was the one who held all the real power here. She might want me to answer some of her questions, but ultimately, we were in her custody.

“First,” she started, “I never said we were friends. I said I knew them. Second, you were wrong when you said you’re being held prisoners. You’re not. But look at this from my perspective: You guys just show up here, with absolutely no warning at all, saying you’re being chased by the Daylighters. For all I know, you’ve just led those sons-a-bitches right to our doorstep. You can’t fault me for wantin’ to take some precautions.” She took a grape from my plate and slid it into her mouth. “We can never be too careful. Surely you’ve learned that much?”

I nodded. “Fair enough. But I have some questions too.” When she gave an unenthusiastic shrug and turned to inspect her cuticles, I took that as my cue to continue. “Why aren’t you friends?” Her eyes slid up from her nails, so I elaborated. “You said you knew Thom and Simon, but you said you weren’t friends. Why is that?”

“Actually,” she corrected smugly, “I didn’t say that either. You need to pay better attention. I never said whether we were friends or not.” She put extra emphasis on the “or not,” and I got the sense she got off on playing mind games, twisting everything around until you weren’t sure what your original point even was.

I decided to play my own game—the waiting game—and I refused to give her the slightest hint that she was getting to me. Instead of checking my nails, I tapped my foot to a song only I could hear, settling on “Womanizer” by Britney Spears, not because I loved the song or anything but because it was the first beat that popped into my head.

I felt a huge sense of satisfaction, like I’d just won the lottery or something, when Griffin blinked first, saying: “We were once—the three of us. We were close. I thought I could trust them back then, that I could count on them.” She made a sour face. “Turns out you can never count on anyone but yourself. They were as undependable as everyone else I’ve ever trusted.”

I tried to attach that word to either of them, Simon or Thom—undependable—but I couldn’t make it fit. They were a lot of other things . . . things she’d said. Simon was secretive, plus he was annoying as hell, and Thom was soft-spoken and reserved.