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Leo stood in front of the wall and guarded it.

From what, he couldn’t say. The medium had gone upstairs. Nothing in the basement moved, and still he stood there, arms at his sides, doing his duty.

Duty.

He turned the word over.

He hadn’t meant to say it, but he couldn’t take it back either.

Why couldn’t people be down here?

Because they couldn’t.

Why not?

Because.

He waited. The place in him where the answer should have been sat as empty as the space that used to hold his name.

He stared at the wall and the wall stared back at him.

At some point, he shifted and noticed that the thin gray light from the window well had gone.

It was dark.

Was it night?

Hadn’t it just been morning?

Somewhere between one thought and the next, the entire day had drained out of the house. It happened to him now and then. Time was an unreliable value.

It hadn’t bothered him before. At least, not much.

Now he didn’t know what might have happened in his house while he was down here and Nate was up there, having a whole day while Leo was stuck in time.

He looked at the wall.

Should he guard it still, or should he…?

No, the wall wasn’t going anywhere.

But the man upstairs had a screwdriver, a proven willingness to use it, and a documented history of sneaking into places the moment Leo’s back was turned.

He floated up.

The sitting room was dark. Nate lay on his back, eyes closed, one arm out of the sleeping bag and the other curled around Bartholomew, the seal’s fat gray body tucked against his chest, rising and falling with his breath.

Leo’s eyes lingered on the hated toy.

He knew exactly how warm that spot was.

Not to say that he was jealous of a fat gray seal or anything. He took up his post by the window. He was here to supervise. Nothing else.

“Goodnight, Leo,” Nate said, without opening his eyes.

How did he always know?

Leo didn’t answer. He watched the intruder fall asleep in his house, and he did not go back downstairs all night.