Lyra’s POV
Sleep did not come, but I still lay under the covers, breath even, arms tucked loosely across my stomach. My mind was restless, but my body remained obediently still.
Then the trunk at the foot of my bed creaked. Not loudly, but just enough.
A pause.
Then a faint click. Again. And again.
The rhythm of someone fumbling with the lock.
I didn’t move.
The darkness helped both of us.
But I could sense the figure bent over the truck at the foot of my bed, breathing carefully as if afraid of being heard.
The lock clinked once more, then silence.
Whoever it was had either given up, or decided to try again later.
When I finally opened my eyes, it was morning, and I had a plan. It was crude, but cautious has lost its edge.
I rewrote a version of Ethan’s letter. Perhaps, it
