Dawn was still just a pale bruise on the horizon when Vane arrived. She had asked him to come up, and the heavy tower door, as always, was left unlocked. He climbed the narrow, spiraling stone stairs in the dark, his breath blooming in white clouds against the bitter chill of the landing just below the bell housing. He pushed open the upper door and stepped out into the biting wind.
She was already there.
Of course she was. She was always already there. Nyx sat with her legs dangling casually over the precipice of the parapet, the high-altitude gusts tearing at her lavender hair. Her striking opal eyes were locked on him the exact moment he cleared the doorway; the Dreamscape had felt the rhythm of his footsteps on the stairs long before he reached the top.
