“What was that all about?” Stormy asked. “Obviously we were supposed to go in there. Obviously we were supposed to see something. But what?”

No one had an answer.

It was still the dead of night—two o’clock according to one watch, three-thirty according to another—and they were all pretty tired, so after a short discussion in which they vowed to confront Billings in the morning and demand to know what had happened tonight, why the House had been sealed off, they returned to their rooms.

“Anything unusual,” Laurie said as they walked up the stairs, “call for help. Don’t try to take on anything alone.”

“Anything unusual?” Stormy asked.

Laurie smiled. “Anything more unusual than usual.”

Mark and Norton headed up to the third floor. Stormy stopped off at his room, and Daniel accompanied Laurie to her door before walking down to his own bedroom and locking the door behind him.

He stripped off his clothes, hit the sheets, and fell asleep almost immediately.

He dreamed of Doneen.

He awoke, by the Batman clock on his dresser, at six. He heard the chime calling them to breakfast, sounding from its unspecific source somewhere nearby. There was no light other than the small desk lamp he’d turned on before sleeping because flat wood now covered the spot where his window used to be, and he realized that they were now living in a world without natural light.

Maybe that’s why they’d been shown the greenhouse—because it was the only room left that had windows.

The chime sounded once again.

Daniel remained in bed. Fuck Billings. He was going back to sleep. If punctual communal meals assisted the Houses in their regeneration of power, then he wasn’t going to do anything to help. Besides, he was still tired and didn’t want to wake up. And they’d have all day—hell, all year—to interrogate the butler.

There was a knock on his door. “Daniel?”

Laurie.

“Just a minute.” Sighing, he got out of bed, pulled on his pants, and opened the door.

She stood in the hall, dressed, hair combed, and he unconsciously ran a hand through his own hair. “May I come in?” she asked.

He nodded, stepped back. She closed the door behind her, and his first thought was that he ought to remind her that he was married. But she seemed oblivious to that potential in the situation and pulled his small chair away from the desk, sitting down. “I know we haven’t had a chance to talk one-on-one,” she said. “None of us have. But I’ve been doing some thinking and… well…” She met his eyes. “What do you think of Mark?”

“Mark? I… I don’t know. Why?”

“Come on. Cut the crap. There’s no reason to be diplomatic here. What are your feelings about Mark? Your gut reaction.”