“You tell me.” The man finally put down his gadget. “I’m busy, as you can see. So. Out with it.”

I made a face. Good grief. “You were watching me in my world. Not helping, I should clarify, just watching. If you’re a Guard of Doors, you should at least have the decency to ask why I needed help in the first place.”

The man huffed and stroked his white beard. Then he picked up the gadget again and rattled it. “I haven’t been called upon to guard the integrity of the intersects in eight full seasons. Then a song rings in my ears right in the exact middle of the midday feast at my mum’s seasonal birth celebration. And now, I must be dreaming a thing or three, because it seems as though you’re blaming me for it.”

“So you are a Guard of Doors.” I stood straighter. “Did you open a door to my world?” I blurted, dropping into the chair across from his table. He picked up a tool and began twisting something on the side of the gadget.

“No. Not a full one. Just one the size of a button, really. Just big enough to see what the trouble was.” The man set the gadget down and reached for a needle and some thread. “Now tell me, girl, what in the name of tooting-tootlebees do you want?”

His fingers worked as he asked, and I clasped my hands together below the table.

“Well, I want to be able to come and go between the Trite world and Winter whenever I need to. I want a door.”

The man slowed his stitching. He set the needle down, and when he looked up, he blinked. “Impossible.”

My chest deflated. “I’m the last Carrier of Truth in Winter. I’m—”

“Yes, yes, I know what you are.” The man waved me off. “Still. Impossible. I was instructed never to get involved in personal interests. Otherwise, I could be bought off, and there are rules to uphold, you know.”

“So…you’re a follower of Elowin?” I asked. “Did he give you that rule?”

“It’s not my place, girl.” The man smacked his hand on the table. “I’m not to speak of such things, and you are not to know them.”

My jaw tightened and I strangled my fingers below the table.

“Well, if you change your mind…” The man chuckled when I didn’t finish the sentence.

“I know where to find you.” But it was clear he never intended to come looking for me again.

“What’s your name?” I asked anyway.

“Questions, questions.” The man shook his head. “I’m Obb. Now, out that way, if you please. Left, then right a time or three. You’ll find your way out if you keep moving and don’t stop to think.” He nodded toward the tent flap.

Realizing our chat was over, I reluctantly rose from my seat to follow his instructions. I glanced back at the white-bearded man before I left, but I couldn’t come up with any more arguments. He was back to studying his gadget, my plight already forgotten.