Lyra remained in front of the door long after the whisper disappeared.
She wasn't sure what frightened her more—the sound itself or the fact that she'd almost convinced herself it wasn't real.
She reached for the handle again.
It didn't move.
"Of course."
She stepped back and looked around the library. Nothing had changed. The dusty shelves, the old desk, the faded curtains. Everything looked ordinary.
Almost too ordinary.
Lyra picked up Edmund Hollow's journal and tucked it under her arm.
She would take it to her room.
Maybe she could find something useful in it later.
She had just reached the library door when she heard footsteps behind her.
She turned.
A girl stood between the shelves.
Lyra hadn't heard her come in.
The girl looked young, perhaps a year or two younger than Lyra. Her brown hair was pulled into a loose braid, with several strands falling around her face. She wore a plain dark dress and held a stack of folded towels against her chest.
For a moment, neither of them spoke.
Then the girl glanced at the journal in Lyra's hand.
"You're not supposed to be in here."
Lyra raised an eyebrow.
"Apparently I'm not supposed to be anywhere in this house."
The girl's lips twitched.
It was almost a smile.
"That's not what I meant."
"Then what did you mean?"
The girl looked toward the locked door.
Her expression changed.
"Don't go there, Miss Lyra."
Lyra followed her gaze.
"Why?"
The girl lowered her voice.
"Because Mrs. Harrow doesn't like anyone asking questions about that door."
"That's not an answer."
"I know."
Lyra studied her.
"What's your name?"
"Clara."
"How long have you worked here?"
Clara shifted the towels in her arms.
"Almost three years."
"And you've never opened that door?"
"No."
"Have you tried?"
Clara shook her head quickly.
"Not after what happened."
Lyra waited.
Clara didn't continue.
"What happened?"
The girl looked uncomfortable.
"I shouldn't have said that."
"You already did."
Clara sighed.
"You're really curious, aren't you?"
"I've been here for less than two days and I've already heard things moving behind a locked door."
Clara's eyes widened.
"You heard it?"
Lyra nodded.
"What did you hear?"
"Whispering."
Clara went quiet.
For a moment, Lyra thought she wouldn't answer.
Then Clara said, "Sometimes people hear things."
"People?"
"Staff."
"How many?"
Clara looked toward the hallway.
"I don't know."
That answer bothered Lyra more than it should have.
She stepped closer.
"What exactly is behind the door?"
"I don't know."
"Clara."
"I'm serious."
The girl looked at her.
"I've never been inside. Mrs. Harrow keeps the key."
Lyra glanced at the journal.
"Who is Edmund Hollow?"
Clara's face went pale.
"You found his journal?"
"Yes."
"Where?"
"Here."
Clara swallowed.
"Don't read it."
Lyra frowned.
"Why?"
"Because some things are better left alone."
"That's what everyone keeps telling me."
"Maybe they're right."
Before Lyra could reply, footsteps sounded in the hallway.
Clara immediately straightened.
Mrs. Harrow appeared in the doorway.
Her eyes went first to Clara, then to the journal in Lyra's hand.
For the first time since Lyra had met her, the housekeeper looked genuinely unsettled.
"Where did you find that?"
"In the library."
Mrs. Harrow walked toward her.
"Give it to me."
Lyra held it against her chest.
"Why?"
"Because it doesn't belong to you."
"I live here."
Mrs. Harrow stopped.
The two women stared at each other.
Then the housekeeper spoke quietly.
"That doesn't mean everything in this house belongs to you."
Lyra felt a chill run down her arms.
Mrs. Harrow held out her hand.
"Please."
There was something different about her voice now. Not anger.
Fear.
Lyra reluctantly handed over the journal.
Mrs. Harrow took it and closed it immediately.
"Stay away from this room after dark."
She turned to Clara.
"And you. Back to work."
Clara nodded and hurried past her.
Lyra followed, but before leaving, she looked once more at the locked door.
For some reason, she couldn't stop thinking about the whisper.
She hadn't imagined it.
She knew that much.
Later that evening, Lyra sat at the dining table with a cup of tea she hadn't touched.
Across from her, Clara quietly arranged the plates.
Lyra waited until Mrs. Harrow had left the room.
"Clara."
The girl looked up.
"Yes?"
"Why did you look scared when I mentioned Edmund?"
Clara's fingers tightened around the plate.
"I didn't."
"You did."
Clara glanced toward the doorway.
Then she leaned closer.
"My mother used to work here."
Lyra hadn't expected that.
"What happened to her?"
Clara's expression became distant.
"She left."
"Why?"
"I don't know."
It was obvious she was lying.
Before Lyra could press further, Clara straightened and picked up the remaining plates.
"Goodnight, Miss Lyra."
"Clara—"
But she was already walking away.
Lyra watched her disappear through the doorway.
For the first time since arriving at the Hollow, she realized something.
The house wasn't the only thing keeping secrets.
The people who lived in it were too.