"That isn't really-" he stammers as he backs up into the wall, "-what worries me."

He swallows heavily, staring up at them. "It's just a house," he lies again. "It's just - just this house I - I dream about." He presses his free hand back against the wall behind him, finding ironic comfort in it; a possible exit, as well as a trap.

"It's not for you," he says softly.