**Lyra's Point of View**

The wait was worse than any beating Madame Beatrice had ever given. It was a slow, gnawing fear that ate away at the edges of the Sanctum's safe peace. Kenny slept on, blissfully unaware, but the golden thread that connected us throbbed with my growing worry. I walked back and forth across the big cave, running my fingers over the cool, smooth surface of my medallion, which stayed still and quiet.

My mother sat by the plinth with her eyes closed and her face a mask of ...