A soaring icy wind cut into the city, signaling the early onslaught of a brutal winter. Being so high up, the windows in my bedroom vibrated with strong winds, and in half sleep, in darkness drifting, there were moments when I thought a fist was thumping at the glass. I dreamt of Graves in fight gear. He was young, and his skin bristled with beads of sweat shaped like diamonds. The winds brought slicing rain too, and I was sweating in bed, tossing the sheets to the floor, then at one point, I began to shake with anticipation as a large bird slammed into the window, glass shattering at my feet. There was a rhythmic knocking.
I sat up. There was no bird. There was someone at the door. It was a slow, regular beating. A patient knocking. I was startled but got up, naked, and crept to the fron
