The silence between them was as dense as the mist starting to rise in the back of the cave. Lyra remained seated, wrapped in the cloak he had given her, her eyes fixed on the dying embers of the fire. River moved in silence, precise and disciplined. He adjusted his worn, torn pants, how they were still holding together, he didn't know, gathered the leftover fruit in a dark cloth, and buried the fire with cold dirt, covering every trace. It was like he was preparing to vanish from the world, and take her with him.

When he was done, he turned to her.

It's time. We need to go.

Lyra looked up slowly, her expression still wary, weighed down by a bone-deep exhaustion.

I'm not going with you, she said firmly, her voice hoarse. I don’t even know you.

River took a step toward her, his eyes like shattering ice under the gray light of dawn filtering through the cave’s entrance.

If you want to live, you’ll have to stay with me.

I didn’t ask for help.

But you needed it.

Lyra didn’t answer. Her eye