The building hulked in the darkness above, just visible as suggestions of shade against the clouded night sky beyond. The feel of it in the air was heavy – warm and wet – but burned off in the chill breeze within a dozen paces. No lights could be seen anywhere disturbing the silhouette, but the scent of the place was distinct and sharp and organic, like curled ferns in a deep summer’s night. It smelled the smell that secret places do – like hidden glades and half remembered summers and unopened boxes. This city was unfamiliar to her, this district alien, and these streets entirely beyond her ken. But this place, this building, felt like the places she had played as a child – the backs of warming cupboards and the branches of fig trees and deep pools of clear black water.