There's a long-ish pause in the dim hallway, grey light seeping through a thick glassed window towards the front, all other potential sources extinguished at this hour. Then, some subtle sounds. A scrape, followed by a louder series of thunks and clunks as numerous locks are undone and unlatched, rattling and tumbling.

The door opens to Loxley who was definitely about as deeply asleep as he gets less than a minute ago, which is not extremely. He's managed to put on some pants but has a knit blanket pulled around bare shoulders to protect him from the deep chill both outside and inside his own room.

"Morning," he says, shuffling backwards to let her in rather than ask what brings her. Bed unmade and warm, a few of last night's dishes left on the table by the window, the stove in the corner cold and lightless.