“You need rest,” Kant said, as though he could read her thoughts. “It can be here or it can be at the house, but you should try to sleep.”

She nodded. Her limbs felt heavy. Her eyes burned. The idea of sleep—of oblivion—was seductive. Hours away from this world. Hours where she wouldn’t have to worry about what the next night would bring. She drained her mug and left it on the countertop next to the sink.

“If you’re staying here, I can bring in some spare blankets,” Andrew said.

“No.” She rubbed her palm into her closed eyelids. The skin was gritty and sensitive. “I’ll go back to the house. Shower. Fresh clothes.”

“Sure.”

“Thank you. For everything.” She rose, sighing at the ache in her feet. “What about you both? Is there…anything I can do?”

“I’m fine.” Kant sighed deeply. “Might visit Ray later. You’ll be able to find me around if you need me. Take care, Margot.”

“I’ll walk you out,” Andrew said. He followed as Margot stepped back into the warming late-morning air. She squinted against the sun as she turned to face the house leading to the hill.

“Will you be all right?” Margot asked as Andrew came up beside her.

“Yeah. I’ll keep an eye on him. Make sure he eats something.” Andrew took his glasses off and polished them on the corner of his shirt. His eyes glanced across the grass, the buildings. Anywhere that wasn’t Margot. “Look. I…might be speaking out of turn here.”

She faced him. “Go on.”

“Don’t ask any more from Kant. Please.” Andrew looked uncomfortable to even say it. “He’ll try to help, because he’s Kant, and that’s just what he does, but…”

“Yeah.” She felt a prickling, miserable kind of pain in the center of her chest. She knew what Andrew was saying. The hill had already extracted such a high price from the manager; she couldn’t ask for more. Not even when she desperately needed it. “I understand.”

“Right. Thank you.” He took a step back, replacing the glasses. “I’ll see you later, I guess.”

“Yeah.” She turned, her throat sore, and began the slow climb back to the house.

The front door still hung open, shifting in increments as the wind played with it. Dust and fallen leaves had blown into the entryway, coating the smear of blood she’d left as she scrambled for the door.

She didn’t know what she’d expected to find there. The Watcher, upright, the way she’d originally left it? Or maybe a tangle of metal wires and bones and river stones, collapsed onto the floor, irreversibly broken. Or, worst of all, the Watcher, still containing the dead one, even after dawn was long risen.