Head down, I made my way to the end of the alley, and I found myself almost surprised to see it again: the steel gate flanked on either side by stone pillars, the overgrown clearing, and—I stretched my neck to see over the gate—yes, the door. It had taken on new importance already, given my time spent perusing the old maps with Gaynor at the British Library. I felt like I knew secrets about the area: that nearby, there once existed a tiny walkway called Back Alley; and just down the way was a place called Fleet Prison; and even Farringdon Street, the main avenue a few steps away, used to be called something different. Did everything reinvent itself over time? It was beginning to seem like every person, every place, carried an untold story with long-buried truths resting just beneath the surface.

This morning, I’d been grateful for the windows of the buildings surrounding Bear Alley, in case the plumber decided to come too close. But now, I didn’t want to be seen, which was why I’d left the hotel after dark. The sky now was a charcoal gray, only a hint of the sun’s last rays glowing from the west. A few windows of the surrounding buildings were lit, and inside one building I could see desks and computers and a stock ticker with bright red letters flicking across its screen. Thankfully, no late workers milled about within.

I looked down. At the base of the locked gate was a small red-and-white sign that I hadn’t seen this morning: NO TRESPASSING. ORD. 739-B. The back of my neck prickled with nerves.

I let a minute pass; there was no sound or movement other than a pair of sparrows flitting by. I tightened the strap of my bag and stepped onto the loose rock foothold at the base of the stone pillar and heaved myself to the top, where I teetered precariously. If there was ever a time to change my mind, it was now. Even now, I could still manage an excuse or explanation. But once I swung my legs over and landed on the other side? Forget it. Trespassing was trespassing.

Keeping my center of gravity low so as not to slip, I awkwardly twisted my torso around so that my legs hung over the other side. Then, with a final glance behind me, I jumped.

It was a clean, quiet landing, and had I closed my eyes, I could have convinced myself that nothing had changed—except, of course, I’d now broken the law. But the decision had come and gone.