Lyra had expected grief to be the hardest thing she’d deal with. She was wrong. Grief, at least, made sense. You cry, you feel heavy, you eventually learn to carry it. But this new thing… this creeping, whispering, crawling thing? It didn’t make sense at all.

It started small. So small she could’ve sworn it was just the palace settling at night. One night, while brushing her hair at the vanity, she heard what sounded like a sigh in the wall behind her. She froze, turned around, listened ...