Lyra did not sleep.
She sat in the quiet of the command room long after the torches outside dimmed, the leather wrap resting on the table in front of her like an accusation. Tyler’s. Returned untouched, but not unmarked. The edges had been deliberately smoothed, the wear polished away just enough to suggest it had been handled. Considered.
They hadn’t taken it by accident.
They had taken it for granted.
Tyler leaned against the far wall, arms crossed, gaze unfocused in a way Lyra recognized. He was running through contingencies, mapping routes, replaying the last hours to find the gap that had allowed this.
“They were inside the gate,” he said quietly.
“Yes,” Lyra replied.
“Long enough to search.”
“Yes.”
“And close enough to know which of my things you’d notice.”
Lyra’s fingers c
