The silence between them was as thick as the fog rising from the depths of the cave. Lyra sat wrapped in the cloak he had given her, eyes fixed on the dying embers of the fire. River moved quietly, precise, disciplined. He adjusted his worn, torn pants, barely holding together, gathered the remaining fruit in a dark cloth, and smothered the fire with cold dirt until no trace was left. It was as if he were preparing to disappear from the world, and take her with him.

When he was done, he turned to her.

“It’s time. We need to leave.”

Lyra lifted her gaze slowly. Her face still carried distrust, and exhaustion weighed on her bones.

“I’m not going with you,” she said firmly, though her voice was hoarse. “I don’t even know you.”

River stepped closer, his eyes like ice shattering beneath the gray 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 eyes narrowed as if she want