Chapter 11
Chapter 11
The next three days passed in a strange, suspended quiet. No more messages arrived. No shadows lingered at the window. But the silence wasn't peaceful — it was the stillness before a storm gathers, when the air grows heavy and the world holds its breath.
Elias spent every morning at the library, sitting in the reading room with a book open on his lap but his eyes never straying far from Lyra as she moved among the shelves. People noticed. At first they whispered. Then slowly, tentatively, they began to approach them — not with questions, but with stories. An elderly woman stopped by the desk one afternoon.
"My grandmother used to say," she murmured, her eyes darting around as if afraid someone might overhear, "that the Vance girl wasn't unlucky. That she was fighting. And that someone was fighting beside her too. We just… weren't allowed to talk about it."
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