Lyra stopped halfway up the stairs.
The voice had been so faint that she almost convinced herself she had imagined it.
Almost.
"Lyra."
She looked up.
The staircase disappeared into darkness above her. The west wing was somewhere beyond the upper corridor, hidden behind a section of the house she hadn't explored.
Another bell rang.
The sound vibrated through the walls.
Clara came up behind her and grabbed her arm.
"Don't."
Lyra looked back.
"Did you hear that?"
"Hear what?"
"The voice."
Clara shook her head.
"No."
Lyra turned toward the staircase again.
Someone had called her name.
She was sure of it.
Behind them, Mrs. Harrow's voice cut through the hall.
"Miss Lyra, come back downstairs."
Lyra ignored her.
She climbed another step.
Then another.
Rowan appeared behind Clara.
"Lyra, stop."
She turned.
"You heard it too."
"I heard the bell."
"You didn't hear him?"
Rowan's expression changed.
"Him?"
Lyra stared at him.
"You know something."
"No."
"Then why did you look scared?"
"I'm not scared."
"You are."
Rowan looked toward the upper floor.
"Please."
That one word made Lyra pause.
She had never heard Rowan sound like that before.
Not angry.
Not mysterious.
Just genuinely worried.
Then the bell rang again.
Closer.
Lyra continued upstairs.
The others followed.
At the top of the stairs, the corridor stretched into darkness. The windows rattled as rain began beating against the glass.
Lyra looked toward the far end.
A narrow hallway disappeared around a corner.
The west wing.
She took a step.
Mrs. Harrow called from below.
"Do not go there!"
Lyra stopped.
She turned.
The housekeeper stood at the bottom of the stairs, one hand gripping the banister.
Tom was beside her.
Neither of them looked at Lyra.
They were staring at the hallway.
"Why?" Lyra asked.
Mrs. Harrow didn't answer.
"Why can't I go there?"
"Because it isn't safe."
"You've said that before."
"This time I mean it."
Lyra looked at Rowan.
He wouldn't meet her eyes.
That made up her mind.
She walked toward the west wing.
Clara followed.
"Lyra."
"I'm not going alone."
They reached the corner.
The hallway beyond was darker than the rest of the house.
There were no candles.
No lamps.
Nothing.
Lyra pulled out her phone and turned on the flashlight.
The beam revealed a row of old portraits.
She slowed down.
The Hollow family.
Men.
Women.
Children.
Some looked stern.
Others smiled.
Lyra stopped in front of one portrait.
A woman stood beside a young boy.
The boy looked familiar.
Not because she'd seen his face before.
Because she'd seen his eyes.
Dark.
Serious.
Elias.
She moved closer.
A brass plaque beneath the portrait read:
Edmund Hollow and family.
Lyra frowned.
There was no mention of Elias.
She looked at the boy again.
Someone had scratched his face.
Just like the photograph.
"Why does everyone keep doing that?" she whispered.
Clara stepped beside her.
"Maybe they don't want anyone remembering him."
"That's impossible."
"Why?"
"Because I'm remembering him."
A sound came from farther down the corridor.
A door closing.
Lyra raised her phone.
"Hello?"
Nothing.
She walked forward.
Clara grabbed her sleeve.
"Maybe we should go back."
"Just a little farther."
They reached the end of the corridor.
A door stood in front of them.
Unlike the other doors, this one was painted black.
Lyra recognized the symbol carved into its center.
The same empty circle from the family crest.
And the same symbol on the silver key.
Her hand went to her pocket.
She pulled the key out.
Clara's eyes widened.
"You brought it?"
"Of course."
"Lyra..."
"I just want to see if it fits."
She inserted the key.
It turned immediately.
The lock clicked.
Both girls froze.
Lyra slowly pushed the door open.
Cold air rushed past them.
The room beyond was completely dark.
She raised her phone.
The flashlight revealed an old bedroom.
Dust covered the furniture.
The curtains were torn.
A desk sat beneath the window.
And on the wall opposite them was a large mirror.
Lyra stepped inside.
Clara remained at the doorway.
"Do you recognize this room?"
"No."
Lyra approached the desk.
There were several books scattered across it.
One was open.
She leaned closer.
The pages were filled with handwriting.
She recognized it immediately.
The same handwriting from the letter.
If you're reading this, then the house chose you.
Lyra's breath caught.
She flipped through the pages.
Most of them had been torn out.
Only a few remained.
One sentence caught her attention.
I thought I could keep her away from this place.
Lyra read it again.
"Who?"
Clara stepped closer.
"Maybe he meant someone else."
Lyra shook her head.
"No."
She turned the page.
There was another line.
But the Hollow always brings the Vale blood back.
Clara's face went pale.
"Lyra..."
A sound came from behind them.
Both girls turned.
The door was still open.
The hallway was empty.
Then the door slowly began to close.
Lyra rushed toward it.
She grabbed the handle.
It wouldn't move.
"Clara!"
Clara ran forward.
Together they pulled.
Nothing.
The door slammed shut.
The room fell completely dark.
Lyra's phone flashlight flickered.
Once.
Twice.
Then went out.
Clara grabbed her hand.
"Lyra?"
"I'm here."
Something moved behind them.
A soft scrape against the floor.
Lyra held her breath.
The mirror.
She could see it now.
Even without the flashlight, a faint reflection remained in the glass.
Her own face stared back at her.
But there was someone standing behind her.
A boy.
Lyra couldn't breathe.
He stood only a few feet away.
Dark hair.
Pale face.
The same eyes from the photograph.
Elias.
She turned around.
There was nobody there.
She looked back at the mirror.
He was still there.
And this time, he wasn't looking at her.
He was looking at the door.
Then he raised one hand and pointed.
Lyra followed his gaze.
Words slowly appeared across the mirror.
DON'T OPEN IT.
Clara whispered,
"Lyra..."
Something began scratching from the other side of the door.
Three slow scratches.
Then a voice came through the wood.
"Lyra."
She knew that voice.
It was the same one she'd heard outside her bedroom.
But this time, there was something different about it.
It wasn't warning her.
It was begging.
"Please."
The scratching stopped.
Lyra stared at the door.
Then at Elias's reflection.
For the first time, the boy in the mirror looked directly at her.
His lips moved.
No sound came out.
But Lyra understood the words.
It's not me.