Tobias pushes the door open and steps through. The warmth hits him first — woodsmoke and baked bread and the close press of many people. He finds himself at the edge of a long hall lit by tallow candles in iron sconces, rough tables crowded with travellers eating and arguing in low voices. Nobody looks up. At the far end, a broad woman in a plain linen apron moves between the tables, a ladle swinging from one hand, flour still dusting her sleeves. She stops when she reaches him, studies him with watchful eyes that seem to catalogue every crease in his rumpled nightclothes. "Lost?" she says, the word flat and certain, not really a question. Tobias opens his mouth to answer — and notices, on the hearthstone behind her, a faint smear of violet light, already fading.