The house had grown too quiet after hours spent tracing wooden grain and brass locks. I pushed past the thick fold of the drape onto the marble sill to see beyond the glass. The brass sash latch sat firmly engaged, but its pivot looked loose. Placing my shoulder against the lower rail, I levered the latch arm upward until it yielded with a dull, hollow thud. A narrow slit opened between the frame and the sill. A sweep of cool night air immediately swept across my face, carrying the scent of damp pavement and distant street lamps from the pavement below.