Lyra woke before sunrise.
For several seconds, she had no idea where she was.
Then she saw the unfamiliar ceiling above her and remembered.
The Hollow.
She sat up slowly.
The room was cold. Colder than it had been the night before.
Lyra pulled the blanket around her shoulders and looked toward the window. The glass was covered with a thin layer of mist, turning the outside world into a blur of gray.
She hadn't slept well.
Every time she closed her eyes, she thought about the locked door.
And Edmund's journal.
Mrs. Harrow had taken it from her, but Lyra couldn't stop wondering what had been written on the pages that were still intact.
Especially the sentence she'd read.
She came back last night.
Who was she?
And where had she gone?
Lyra got dressed and went downstairs.
The house was unusually quiet.
She found Clara in the kitchen, standing beside the stove with a mug in her hands.
The girl looked up.
"You're awake early."
"So are you."
Clara shrugged.
"I've been awake since five."
"Couldn't sleep?"
Clara hesitated.
"Something like that."
Lyra noticed the dark circles beneath her eyes but decided not to ask.
Instead, she sat at the small kitchen table.
"Do you know where Mrs. Harrow keeps the journal?"
Clara nearly dropped her mug.
"No."
"You didn't even think about it."
"Because I know better than to look."
Lyra smiled faintly.
"Everyone in this house says that."
"Maybe everyone in this house has a reason."
Before Lyra could respond, the kitchen door opened.
Mrs. Harrow stepped inside.
The conversation ended immediately.
She looked between them.
"Breakfast will be ready in twenty minutes."
Then she left.
Lyra waited until the door closed.
"She does that a lot."
"Does what?"
"Appears whenever someone starts talking about the Hollow."
Clara gave her a nervous look.
"You're going to get yourself into trouble."
"Maybe."
Clara sighed.
"You really aren't going to stop, are you?"
"No."
A reluctant smile appeared on Clara's face.
"I thought so."
Later that morning, Lyra decided to leave the house.
She needed air.
And she needed answers that weren't going to come from Mrs. Harrow.
The walk to the village felt shorter this time.
She passed the bakery and immediately spotted Rowan outside, carrying two baskets.
He noticed her and grinned.
"You're back."
"I didn't realize I'd made such an impression."
"You own the Hollow. Around here, that's enough to make anyone memorable."
Lyra rolled her eyes.
"Good morning to you too."
Rowan laughed.
"You look tired."
"I barely slept."
"Nightmares?"
"Something like that."
He studied her face.
"Did something happen?"
Lyra considered telling him.
Instead, she said, "Do you know anything about the Hollow family?"
His smile faded slightly.
"Depends."
"On what?"
"On how much trouble you're looking for."
"Apparently, I'm already looking for it."
Rowan sighed.
"There are stories."
"I've heard stories."
"Then you know people don't like talking about them."
"That's exactly why I want to know."
He looked toward the road before lowering his voice.
"My grandmother used to say the Hollow family wasn't like everyone else."
"How?"
"I don't know. She never explained."
"That's not very helpful."
"I know."
Lyra smiled despite herself.
Rowan continued walking.
"There was a boy."
She stopped.
"What boy?"
"An heir, I think. My grandmother mentioned him once. Said he disappeared."
"Disappeared?"
"That's all I know."
Lyra stared at him.
"Do you know his name?"
Rowan shook his head.
"No."
A strange disappointment settled in her chest.
Still, she couldn't shake the feeling that she'd heard this before.
A boy.
A locked room.
Humming behind a door.
She thanked Rowan and headed back toward the Hollow.
By the time she reached the estate, the sky had darkened.
She entered through the front door and immediately noticed something strange.
The library door was open.
Lyra stopped.
She was certain she'd closed it earlier.
Slowly, she stepped inside.
The room looked exactly as she'd left it.
Except for one thing.
A book lay open on the floor.
Lyra crouched beside it.
The pages were filled with handwriting.
She picked it up.
It wasn't Edmund's journal.
It was an old family record.
She turned the pages quickly.
Births.
Deaths.
Marriages.
Names.
Then she reached a page that had been almost completely blackened with ink.
Only one line remained visible.
Elias Hollow — 17 years old.
Lyra's fingers went cold.
She read the line again.
Elias Hollow.
Below his name was a date.
And beside it, someone had written four words.
Never speak of him.
Lyra stared at the page.
Then she heard the library door close behind her.
She spun around.
No one was there.
But from somewhere beyond the locked door came a soft sound.
Three slow knocks.
Lyra didn't breathe.
Then a fourth knock came.
And this time, something whispered her name.
"Lyra."