Leto had been asleep. Four seconds after the sound began, his door opened. The blur of his movements were too fast to follow, and just slow enough to be seen as a blur -- and then he stood in the dim light of the lit tree and the morning waking behind the blinds. He wore a pair of thin cotton pants and a stone expression. Nothing about him showed that he was a boy of 18; he looked every bit the hardened warrior. And in that moment, that's what he was.
His normally heightened senses were on overdrive. He took in the body under the tree, the bow over it, and the source of the mechanical screeching. There was no one else in the apartment. No breezes or sounds came to him that would have alerted him to an open window or door. The smell of the place carried nothing unfamiliar. A half-second later, he was standing behind Oswin.
"I'm here," he said, his mind filling in the blanks about that grating, electronic sound. He'd heard something similar from her before, just before her voice filtered through his television set. "Oswin, I'm here."