Days slipped by like drops of water falling into the canal below Lucas's apartment window. Each morning he rose to the soft gray light filtering through the curtains, the distant clatter of bicycles on cobblestones, and the faint, metallic scent of rain that seemed to linger in Amsterdam even on clear days. He dressed quickly—jeans, a worn sweater, the same coat he'd worn the night he first met Sofie—and made his way to the museum, where the air was always cooler, dustier, scented with varnish and old wood.
