“I’ve learned my lesson. I swear. Is it true you don’t send children to jail?”

Tvist looked at Vee, amused. “I would expect your parents to know this.”

Vee pulled her chair forward. “So you can murder someone here and your family stays together?”

“Vee,” I said. “Don’t go getting any ideas.”

“No, it’s cool.”

Tvist smiled very broadly.

“All right,” she said, sitting up. “First, I need to declare that I was the one looking at the Tactical Brigades’ stuff on the Internet.”

Tvist’s smile did not leave his face. If anything it broadened, becoming kinder and more open. “May I ask why?”

“They had some answers I sort of agreed with. Not the violence, though.”

Tvist turned to me, still smiling. But there was a question in the look he sent me.

I said, “We work hard to transmit our values to our daughters.”

Vee said, “Being politically incorrect isn’t a crime, Dad. And I didn’t agree with everything they said about black people and Muslims.” She turned to Tvist. “Back in D.C. my best friend is black. He’s really not trying to pollute the white race. I’m pretty sure he’s actually a virgin.”

Tvist was looking at me with his dark, dark eyes, an eyebrow half-raised.

Vee said, “If you’re thinking I’m a fascist, Mr. Tvist, I’m not.”

“Why would I think that?”

“Because if I was, would I be helping you?”

The look on Tvist’s face: somewhere between disbelief and amusement.

“She’s fourteen,” I said. “Figuring stuff out.”

“Dad,” said Vee, “don’t apologize for me. I really do not view violence as a solution to complex social problems, Mr. Tvist.”

“Good,” said Tvist.

“Some of what they’re saying isn’t so extreme, though. A lot of people are against immigration.”

Tvist pressed the tips of his fingers together. “Are you against immigration, Viktoria?”

“In America we have whole cities that are run by black people, for the benefit of black people.”

“Really?”

“No offense.”

“None taken,” said Tvist, his expression unreadable.

“I mean, look at Gothenburg in Sweden. Look at the East End of Oslo. They’re practically no-go areas. Ordinary white people are scared to cross the Aker River. The police won’t go there.”

“Won’t we? That’s news to me, Viktoria. Perhaps you should spend a little time down there, take a look.”

“Vee,” I said, “you don’t think maybe you’re letting the prejudices of people in our neighborhood inform your judgment?”

“You’re the one who wants us to live in a white neighborhood, Dad.”

“That is not why we chose the apartment.” I turned to Tvist. “It’s set in parkland. We thought it was for six months.”