As he spoke, he wrote the word clandestine on the flip side of the bar. The moment he finished, the silver began to vibrate. ‘Heimlich,’ he said. ‘Clandestine.’ Once again Robin heard a singing without a source, an inhuman voice from nowhere. The world shifted. Something bound them – some intangible barrier blurred the air around them, drowned out the surrounding noise, made it feel as though they were the only ones on a floor they knew was crowded with scholars. They were safe here. They were alone. This was their tower, their refuge.*
