He withdrew a long bronze key from the lock, then pulled down the pointed white hood to cover his face before pressing a hand against the smoothed frame in front of him. The back door, a rectangle of glass bordered in ebony wood, creaked open underneath the clouded rays of moonlight that fell from the sky. As he stepped inside, the whine of the floorboards beneath his feet screeched out.

His free hand rose to his robe's outermost pocketed fold, stroked the cool end of a silvery blade. He listened for frantic gasps and fretful footfall, for slamming doors and cries of fear. He waited for lights to click on, for the pattering of hard-bottom shoes.

When silence met his ears, when the dusky blackness before him held its endless haze, he withdrew his fingertips from the jagged metal.

No one was home.

He darted left, gliding down a corridor shrouded in shadows and undergirded with furrowed carpet. As he reached the end, reached another door whose reflective center was outlined pitchly with somber wood, he found a second rigid lock.

He slid his key inside, pushed the door wide, shuddered at another creak as it echoed down the hallway.

The room before him was bathed in pale light filtering through the windows flanking either side. A few feet from the entrance, an iron desk topped with two printers and a pile of hardback books stared back at him.

He strode inside and plodded toward the desk, sliding his fingers across its surface. His palms felt down the angular side, rattling along an outcropping lock that sealed the bottom drawer.

He wondered if his key could open it.

As he stood above the desk, hands resting at its edge, he was suddenly aware of how the moon's dim light danced on the metal. Following its sheen, he spotted a single note pressed with looping, calligraphic brushstrokes upon a thick card of alabaster white:

Dearest Lyn,

It's been so long since we've talked—Oh, how I've missed you! That pesky Valyra keeps making things difficult. Couldn't you possibly have found a rich girl to marry who isn't such a prude?

Anyway, I'm writing to let you know that I'll be back in town next weekend and I can't wait to see you again! I went ahead and booked our old room at San Var. Would you believe Amos still remembers us, dear? It's been months, well and truly such an unbearably long time since we first bathed together on that glorious beach!

Oh, and while I'm thinking about it, you needn't worry about G—he's so stupid, he'll never suspect a thing. And even if he did, he'll be too busy attending to his pathetic mother anyway. Honestly, he can be such a bore sometimes.

Oh, Lyn, why has fate dealt us the cruel hand of forbidden affection? What could we possibly have done to deserve such miserable and insufficient lovers? Is it in the stars? Has all the wrath of the constellations befallen us, entreating the most dreadful of romantic fortunes?

Nonetheless, we shall triumph, my darling, and those who seek to bind us will be none the wiser. For I love you, and I do not repent of it. You are my morning sun, the bright and bursting star that enlivens my days and sparkles my nights! My heart leaps to be reunited with you soon, dearest love! Let us make a lifetime of joy together!

Sincerest Regards,

E.L.V.