Lyra’s POV

The first time the white wolf appeared, I stood in fog so thick I couldn’t see my hands.

It wasn’t frightening, just disorienting.

The wolf emerged from the gray, larger than any I’d seen, luminous somehow. Its eyes felt familiar, though I couldn’t place why. It didn’t speak. Just looked at me.

Then it turned and walked away.

I followed without thinking.

We walked endlessly, the fog never thinning. Shapes eventually formed—bodies, broken weapons, scorched earth.

My ...