The tower stands tall above the shoreline, its windows catching the soft reflection of the sea. Inside, the corridors open into wide, uncluttered spaces — rooms designed more for function than show, though there’s a quiet comfort to them. Raven’s room itself is spacious, with the kind of openness that makes the shadows stretch differently depending on the hour. Bookshelves and trinkets line certain corners, but the space never feels crowded, only lived in.

The lounge area sits nearby, a place where silence is more common than chatter. Deep cushions and low couches make it easy to sink in, and the soft lighting gives the room a hazy calm at night. It’s there, on those couches, that Raven sometimes ends up resting in odd, almost careless positions when exhaustion catches her off guard — though it’s never something she draws attention to.

The tower holds both the stillness of study and the quiet pull of routine. Wide hallways, rooms with just enough light, and the sound of waves faint against the walls all blend into the atmosphere. It’s a place of retreat as much as it is a home.