Dangerous. But Sam couldn't say why. Just a feeling. An instinct, like sensing another Kindred's Predator. Heat rising off of the boiling asphalt.

Not that she was entirely wary. That happened when you had little to lose.

She made a vague gesture to the stack of potatoes in the corner. "Raw supplies. Potatoes. Water. Yeast, which is the hardest to maintain. And just keeping the equipment from collapsing. It's not exactly the most shatterproof glass in the multiverse."

Some lessons were hard-learned. And really fucking gross.