Lyra stared at the key on the floor.
For a moment, she considered leaving it there.
That would have been the sensible thing to do.
She could wake Mrs. Harrow. Tell her someone had been standing outside her room. Tell her about the voice.
But something told her that wouldn't help.
Mrs. Harrow would probably tell her she was imagining things.
Again.
Lyra bent down and picked up the key.
It was surprisingly cold.
She turned it between her fingers.
It was small and old, made of silver that had darkened with age. A strange symbol had been carved into the handle.
A circle.
The same symbol she'd seen on the Hollow family crest at the front gate.
Her stomach tightened.
She looked down the empty hallway.
"Where did you come from?"
Nothing answered.
Lyra closed her bedroom door and locked it.
She placed the key beneath her pillow.
Sleep didn't come easily.
Every little sound made her sit up.
By morning, she had barely slept.
---
Clara found her at breakfast.
"You look terrible."
Lyra stared at her.
"Good morning to you too."
"I mean tired."
"I know what you meant."
Clara smiled.
Then she noticed something.
"What's wrong?"
"Nothing."
"You're a terrible liar."
Lyra almost laughed.
She reached into her pocket and pulled out the key.
Clara's smile disappeared.
"Where did you get that?"
"I found it outside my room."
Clara didn't touch it.
"Give it to me."
"Why?"
"Because you shouldn't have it."
"That's exactly why I'm keeping it."
"Lyra."
The urgency in Clara's voice made her pause.
"What?"
Clara glanced around the dining room.
"Not here."
They went into the kitchen.
Once the door was closed, Clara whispered, "Where exactly did you find it?"
"Outside my bedroom."
"Last night?"
"Yes."
Clara stared at the key.
"I've seen that symbol before."
"Where?"
"My mother's things."
Lyra's eyebrows lifted.
"What things?"
"I don't know. Old papers. She kept them locked away."
"Did they have this symbol?"
"Yes."
Lyra felt a strange excitement.
"Can you ask her about it?"
Clara shook her head.
"She doesn't live here anymore."
"Where is she?"
Clara hesitated.
"Another town."
"Can we visit her?"
"Maybe."
The answer was quiet enough that Lyra almost missed it.
Then Clara looked at the key again.
"But there's something you need to know."
"What?"
"My mother once told me that the Hollow has more than one locked door."
Lyra's excitement disappeared.
"How many?"
"I don't know."
Clara stepped closer.
"But she said one of them should never be opened."
Lyra looked down at the key.
"Do you know which door it opens?"
"No."
A small smile tugged at Lyra's lips.
"Then I guess we'll have to find out."
Clara stared at her.
"You're enjoying this."
"Maybe a little."
"You're insane."
"Probably."
---
That afternoon, Lyra went back to the library.
She waited until Mrs. Harrow was busy downstairs before entering.
The silver key was tucked safely inside her pocket.
She walked between the shelves, searching for anything that looked familiar.
Nothing.
She tried the locked door.
The key didn't fit.
Lyra frowned.
She tried again.
Nothing.
"Okay..."
She stepped back.
Maybe Clara was right.
Maybe the key belonged to another door.
She turned to leave.
Then she noticed something behind one of the bookshelves.
A narrow gap.
Lyra pulled at the shelf.
It didn't move.
She pushed harder.
Nothing.
She crouched down and examined the floor.
There were scratches in the wood.
Someone had moved this shelf before.
Recently.
Lyra stood and pushed again.
This time, the shelf shifted.
Only an inch.
But it was enough.
Behind it was a narrow passage.
Lyra stared into the darkness.
Her heart began to pound.
She reached for the candle on the table and stepped inside.
The passage was barely wide enough for her shoulders.
Dust covered the walls.
At the end was another door.
Unlike the one in the library, this one wasn't locked.
Lyra stopped.
The silver key felt heavy in her pocket.
She reached for the handle.
Then she heard footsteps behind her.
She spun around.
"Who's there?"
No answer.
The passage was empty.
Lyra looked back at the door.
She should leave.
She knew that.
Instead, she slowly turned the handle.
The door opened.
And Lyra found herself staring into a room that looked as though someone had walked out of it yesterday.
There was a bed.
A desk.
A chair.
Books scattered across the floor.
And on the desk sat a framed photograph.
Lyra picked it up.
A boy stared back at her.
Dark hair.
Pale face.
Serious eyes.
She didn't know him.
But she knew his name.
Elias Hollow.
Lyra's fingers tightened around the frame.
Beside the photograph was a sheet of paper.
She picked it up.
Only one sentence had been written on it.
If Lyra comes back, don't let her find me.
Her blood ran cold.
She read it again.
And again.
Then she noticed something underneath the desk.
A second silver key.
But this one had a small tag attached to it.
Three words were written across the tag.
West Wing — 17.
Lyra stared at it.
She had no idea what "17" meant.
But she knew one thing.
Someone had expected her to come back.
And whoever had written that note knew her name long before she ever arrived at the Hollow.