He felt her gaze, heard her gaze, long before he saw it. Her focus materialized in subtle ways; a swish of skirts, a soft tread on the floor that still reverberated through him like a marching drum. How had one woman managed to be so corporeal and incorporeal at once?

As it were, he continued his task until she beckoned otherwise – and then, too, did as he was directed.

“I can’t even clean properly,” he repeated, “and you expect me to run off for good, fend for myself, and leave my sister behind?”

There was a touch of dry amusement to his voice. He was pretty sure running off to a place not saturated in, what, screaming souls of the dead and visceral runoff? Would be cleaner.