On a Tuesday in late October, a light drizzle tapped against the windowpanes, and the air grew steadily colder.
At eight o'clock in the morning, a series of sharp taps on Alistair's dormitory window roused him from his sleep.
He sat up in bed and looked toward the window, where a drenched owl was clutching a package and beating a sorry-looking tattoo against the glass.
Chapter 350