The tower door was unlocked.
It was always unlocked. He had known this since first year — Nyx did not lock doors because locks implied she expected guests, and guests implied she hadn't chosen to summon them. He had come up twice before on his own. The second time she hadn't been there. He had sat for a while and come back down and said nothing about it.
He pushed the door open and climbed.
The staircase was narrow and brutally cold, the stone holding the December dampness the way old things held things — completely, without negotiation. His breath misted in the lamp-light at the landing below the bell housing. The upper door was the same door it had always been. He pushed through it.
She was on the parapet.
