The boy looked at it for a long time before he took it.

And Santiago recognized the look, because it had been his own: the look of a child who has learned not to trust a kindness, because kindness in his experience always had a price attached, always turned out to be a lever, always came due.

“There’s no catch,” Santiago said quietly.

“It’s just a sandwich.

You looked hungry.

That’s the whole thing.” And then, because he knew it was the truest and most useful thing he could offer, he told the boy a little of his own story — not to make it about himself, but so that the kid would understand that the man across the table was not a stranger in a suit who could not possibly know what his life was like.

“I lived in a house where I was afraid to breathe too loud,” Santiago said.