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Miriam glanced at him. “The edges are too clean. Damage from age or a failed crossing frays unevenly. This was deliberate.”

Richard exhaled. “What kind of medium does something like that?”

“The kind we don’t invite to dinner,” Claire said.

No one laughed.

Sally looked between the adults. “What did the medium do?”

Sophie pushed her chair back. “All right. Kids, living room.”

“But—”

“Now, Sally.”

Nicky got up. Sally had to be collected, protesting the entire way and demanding to know whether Leo was going to be all right. Jonah followed them out and pulled the dining-room door mostly shut.

Nate looked at Leo.

He stood slightly behind Nate now, his eyes fixed on nothing.

“Leo,” Nate said.

Leo’s gaze snapped to him. “I’m fine,” he claimed. “There’s nothing wrong with me.”

Right.

Nate turned back to his mother. “What does this mean?”

“I don’t know yet.”

“You know something.”

Miriam’s thumb pressed into her knuckle. “A soul is meant to be whole. When it isn’t, the edges wear away.”

Nate’s stomach tightened. “Wear away how?”

“His memory will go, as well as his strength and coherence.” Miriam looked toward Leo. “Eventually there may be too little left to hold a person together.”

Richard shifted in his chair. “You mean he’ll pass on?”

“No.” Miriam’s answer came immediately. “Passing on requires a soul that can make the crossing. This is dissolution.”

Nate swallowed, looking at Leo again. Dissolution. Did that mean he would just fade from existence? This stubborn, opinionated ghost?

It was hard to imagine.

In this moment, though, Leo looked neither stubborn nor opinionated. He was simply standing there, face empty.

Already he did not seem like himself.

Nate turned to his mother. “How long would it take?”

“I can’t tell you.”

“Could it happen tomorrow?”

“I don’t think so.”