Tobias flattens himself against the cold stone wall beside the window, the bark fairy tucked close under his jaw, both of them still as held breath. From this angle he can see only a slant of the room — the candle's amber pool, a table edge, a shelf of objects he can't name. The flame leans toward the glass again, bending without any wind to move it. Then a shadow crosses it. Tall and unhurried, the figure moves into the candlelight: an elder lean as winter, white hair cropped close, wearing a long grey coat with brass buttons that catch the flame like small suns. Ink-stained fingers lift a brass lantern from a hook and hold it up — not toward the window, but toward the door across the room, which Tobias can now see has no keyhole at all. The bark fairy presses her palm flat against his neck: a warning, or a question.