They were at the third floor landing when Nathan stopped outside the apartment door and dug for the keys.
Merlin glanced down the hallway, eyes brushing over the chipped paint, the faint smell of fried oil from someone cooking, the muffled argument coming from two doors over.
Nathan finally unlocked the door, pushing it open with his shoulder.
"Don't track dirt in," Elara's voice called from somewhere inside.
Nathan grunted. "Yeah, yeah."
Merlin stepped in behind him, scanning the room automatically. The balcony door was closed, curtains drawn, but the faint ripple of fabric told him they'd moved recently.
Nathan threw his bag down. "I'm hitting the shower before Elara tries to interrogate me about training."
Merlin didn't respond. He crossed the living room and slid the balcony door open. The air outside was warm, a slow breeze drifting past. The street three floors below was alive with footsteps and chatter, and somewhere a cartwheel squeaked.
