Lyra was still hearing the voices.
They had not stopped.
If anything, they had grown louder.
They followed her through the trees like shadows she could not escape. Sometimes they sounded like whispers directly beside her ear. Other times, they came from somewhere far beyond the trees, deep within the darkness of the forest.
But there was something strange about them.
Lucien couldn’t hear them.
Neither could Grandma Mira.
Lyra had tried to convince herself that maybe the exhaustion was getting to her. Maybe everything that had happened—the attack, the escape, the bloodshed, the relics, the strange mark on her body—had finally become too much for her mind.
But this was different.
The voices were too clear.
Too deliberate.
And they were always saying the same thing.
Come closer.
