Athos has the same instinct as Aramis, hurrying forward towards the low, unfamiliar building. He has scoured maps of the university campus; he knows them by heart, and this is certainly not one of them. Abandoned, unused, far enough away from the rest of the warm, busy buildings to be forgotten.

By all but the vampires. And, by the looks of the graffiti, a few bold youths.

He presses his lips into a thin line as he circles the building. “Not very creative, these vampires,” he observes, as though disappointed with the cleverness of the monsters they seek. “Aramis, Porthos, over here.” There’s a grate on the ground, half rusted in place, though Athos is able to pull it up with his hands. The hole it reveals is large enough for a man - if only just.