We have been standing on the edge of something for weeks. Tonight someone is going to lean forward.
Sophie's note is on my pillow.
Four words: Roof. You need air.
She has taken her coat, her tea, and herself somewhere that isn't this room with the efficiency of a person who has made a decision and executed it before I could raise an objection. I stand in the middle of the empty room and look at the note and think about the number of things Sophie knows that she pretends not to know, and then I put on my jacket and I go.
The roof access is a door at the end of the fourth-floor east corridor that is technically a maintenance passage and practically the worst-kept secret in the Academy. The latch sticks. You have to lift and push simultaneously. I have learned this because Priya mentioned
