Lyra didn't move.
The library seemed to have stopped breathing.
Her eyes remained fixed on the locked door.
Nothing happened.
No footsteps.
No whisper.
Nothing.
Then she heard it again.
"Lyra."
This time, it was quieter.
Almost like someone was standing directly on the other side.
Her hand tightened around the old family record.
"Who's there?"
Silence.
Lyra took one step toward the door.
Then another.
She stopped with only a few feet between them.
"How do you know my name?"
A long pause followed.
Then came three knocks.
Slow.
Deliberate.
Lyra swallowed.
She reached for the handle.
Before her fingers could touch it, someone grabbed her shoulder.
She screamed.
"Miss Lyra!"
She spun around.
Clara stood behind her, looking almost as frightened as she was.
"What are you doing?" Clara whispered.
Lyra pressed a hand against her chest.
"You scared me!"
"I called your name twice."
"I didn't hear you."
Clara glanced toward the locked door.
Then she noticed the book in Lyra's hand.
Her face changed.
"Where did you get that?"
"It was on the floor."
Clara took a step closer.
Her eyes landed on the name.
Elias Hollow.
She immediately looked away.
"Put it back."
"Why?"
"Just put it back."
"Clara, who is Elias?"
The girl didn't answer.
"Who is he?"
"I don't know."
"You know something."
Clara shook her head.
"I don't."
"Then why are you scared?"
"I'm not."
"You are."
Clara's eyes filled with frustration.
"You don't understand."
"Then explain it to me."
Clara glanced toward the hallway.
"Not here."
She grabbed Lyra's wrist and pulled her out of the library.
They didn't stop until they reached the kitchen.
Clara closed the door behind them.
Lyra stared at her.
"Okay. Talk."
Clara leaned against the door.
"I shouldn't tell you anything."
"That's becoming everyone's favorite sentence."
Despite herself, Clara almost laughed.
Almost.
Then she lowered her voice.
"Elias was the last person who lived in that room."
Lyra's stomach tightened.
"The room behind the door?"
Clara nodded.
"What happened to him?"
"I told you. I don't know."
"Clara."
"I really don't."
She looked down at her hands.
"My mother used to work here. She told me never to ask questions about him."
"Why?"
"Because people who asked questions stopped working here."
Lyra stared at her.
"That's not exactly reassuring."
"I know."
"Did your mother know Elias?"
Clara hesitated.
"She said she saw him once."
"When?"
"Before I was born."
Lyra frowned.
"Then how could she know what happened to him?"
Clara looked toward the kitchen window.
"She didn't."
The answer left Lyra more confused than before.
"What do you mean?"
Clara didn't respond.
A floorboard creaked outside.
Both girls froze.
Someone was walking down the hallway.
Clara immediately stepped away from the door.
Mrs. Harrow appeared a moment later.
Her eyes moved from Clara to Lyra.
Then to the library.
"Have either of you been in there?"
Lyra opened her mouth.
Clara spoke first.
"No."
Mrs. Harrow studied them.
For a moment, Lyra thought she knew they were lying.
But the housekeeper simply nodded.
"Good."
She turned to Clara.
"I need you upstairs."
Clara nodded and left.
Mrs. Harrow started to follow.
"Mrs. Harrow."
She stopped.
Lyra held up the family record.
"Who was Elias Hollow?"
The housekeeper's expression went completely blank.
"Where did you find that?"
"In the library."
Mrs. Harrow walked toward her and took the book.
Her fingers trembled.
Only slightly.
But Lyra noticed.
"Why does everyone refuse to talk about him?"
Mrs. Harrow closed the book.
"Because some people are better left in the past."
"Is he dead?"
The woman looked at her.
"I didn't say that."
That answer sent a chill through Lyra.
Mrs. Harrow returned the book to her.
"Stay away from the west wing."
"Why?"
"Because I am asking you to."
"That's not good enough."
Mrs. Harrow's expression hardened.
"For your own safety, Miss Lyra."
She walked away.
Lyra remained in the kitchen, staring after her.
For the first time since arriving at the Hollow, she wasn't sure she wanted answers anymore.
She wanted to know who Elias was.
But more importantly—
why did everyone seem afraid of him?
That night, Lyra stayed in her room with the family record open on her lap.
She had spent almost an hour staring at the same page.
Elias Hollow.
Seventeen years old.
And then nothing.
No death record.
No explanation.
Just a warning.
She traced the edge of the page with her finger.
"Who were you?"
The candle beside her flickered.
Lyra looked up.
The room was still.
Then came a sound from the hallway.
A soft footstep.
She stood.
Another.
Closer.
Her door handle moved.
Once.
Twice.
Lyra's heart pounded.
She backed away from the door.
The handle stopped.
For several seconds, there was nothing.
Then a voice came through the wood.
Soft.
Clear.
Familiar in a way that made no sense.
"You're asking too many questions."
Lyra froze.
She didn't recognize the voice.
But somehow, she knew one thing.
It wasn't Clara.
It wasn't Mrs. Harrow.
And it wasn't anyone she had met in the village.
"Who are you?" she whispered.
Silence.
Then—
"Someone you should have forgotten."
The footsteps disappeared.
Lyra rushed to the door and pulled it open.
The hallway was empty.
But on the floor outside her room lay something that hadn't been there before.
A small, silver key.
Lyra stared at it.
Then she looked toward the dark end of the hallway.
The direction of the locked door.