Tobias steps off the ridge onto the first carved stair. The stone is old but sure underfoot, worn smooth by some long-ago traffic he cannot name. The fairy presses closer to his collar as they descend — the wind drops with each step until the only sounds are his boots on stone and the faint singing of the thread. The tower fills his vision now, enormous up close, its black stones fitted without mortar and gleaming faintly as though wet. At the foot of the steps a narrow path of pale gravel leads to a door: iron-banded oak, iron ring knocker, a lock dark with age. The thread goes taut in his fist, pointing straight at it. Tobias pauses on the last step. From somewhere high above — near the amber window — comes a slow, deliberate sound: the clank of a chain being lowered.