Lucky then that the door isn't entirely closed anyway - old habits; she likes to give herself the room to peer through the crack, to hear anyone who might be coming up the stairs. A door can always be closed in a hurry, but opening one quietly is more of a challenge. There's a light on in the room, though she is in bed with the old blankets pulled up around her waist and a pillow stuffed behind her shoulders. Her chin is set low, a book propped open on her chest.

It's settled, as comfortable and quiet as she's likely to get.