Fitz stood inside the doorway of his mother"s dance studio, almost overwhelmed by the rush of memories that were triggered by that space. It was easily the size of the formal dining room far below it, but the lack of furniture within made it feel larger. All the glass doors along the north-facing wall were opened up onto the balcony, but the sheer curtains were pulled closed to filter out the harshest of the light. They were on the fifth floor, close enough to the grasslands for the smell of the Immerweis to be strongly present. It mingled pleasantly with the lemony smell of whatever was used to maintain the wooden floorboards to a glassy sheen. It looked like it was coated in mirrors, but it clung ever so slightly to the bottoms of his feet, like he was standing in something sticky.
How
