---
At fifty, he gave Edda a nod.
Edda slid a thin hook through the narrow gap under the sash and lifted. The window latch gave a tiny click like a quiet tongue. She waited for the room to argue. It did not. She lifted the sash a hand's width and stopped. Cool night air came up to meet them. The sleep cloth below gave off one more soft breath and then nothing.
Brann went first. He swung in, toes to the floorboards, weight already spread so the wood would not talk. He paused, listening to the room. The little candle by the stairs outside, the ledger on the tavern woman's lap, the three chickens out back — none of those lives knew he was here.
Edda handed the bell in. Brann gave it one short, low ring inside the room, away from the beds. The note was barely there. It brushed the glass inside Fizz like a feather. Fizz's ears twitched once and went slack.
