The dusty peace of the archives was Lyra’s true home. Here, the world was made of quiet facts and dry ink. Here, things could be understood, sorted, and shelved. The chaos of the border, the whispers about the hunt, the tense silence around the upcoming wedding these things stayed outside the thick oak door. Or they did until she opened the wrong book.
It was a volume of old council notes from a century past. The binding was cracked. The pages were brown at the edges. She was looking for any mention of border disturbances, of strange fungi. She flipped through carefully. Most of it was dull: crop yields, weather reports, minor disputes.
Then, a page felt different. It was thicker. As she turned it, she saw why. Another page had been glued over the original council text. Someone had hidde
