Lyra read the words again.
West Wing — 17.
Her fingers tightened around the little tag.
Seventeen.
What was it supposed to mean?
A room number?
A year?
An age?
She looked around the room.
Nothing about it looked like a place that had been abandoned for years.
The bed was neatly made.
A coat hung over the back of the chair.
There was a glass sitting on the desk, a thin layer of dust covering its rim.
Books were scattered across the floor, but not randomly. It looked as though someone had been reading them.
Recently.
Lyra stepped closer to the desk.
The photograph was still in her hand.
Elias.
She studied his face.
He looked younger than she'd expected. There was nothing frightening about him. If anything, he looked tired.
Lonely.
She turned the photograph over.
There was writing on the back.
Elias, age seventeen.
Lyra's heart skipped.
So that was what the number meant.
She looked back at the tag.
West Wing — 17.
Seventeen wasn't a room number.
It was him.
But why would someone label a key with his age?
She put the photograph down.
A floorboard creaked behind her.
Lyra froze.
She slowly turned.
Nothing.
"Okay," she whispered. "I'm officially losing my mind."
She grabbed the photograph and stepped toward the doorway.
Another sound came from the hallway.
This time, she knew she wasn't imagining it.
Someone was walking toward her.
Lyra quickly slipped the photograph into her coat pocket.
She stepped into the passage and pulled the door shut behind her.
The footsteps stopped.
She held her breath.
Then she heard Mrs. Harrow's voice.
"Miss Lyra?"
Lyra's stomach dropped.
"I'm here."
Mrs. Harrow appeared at the entrance to the passage.
Her eyes immediately went to the hidden doorway.
For several seconds, neither of them spoke.
Then Mrs. Harrow whispered,
"How did you find this?"
Lyra folded her arms.
"How long have you known it was here?"
The housekeeper's expression hardened.
"Answer my question."
"I found it behind the bookshelf."
Mrs. Harrow closed her eyes briefly.
"Of course you did."
"What is this place?"
"Nothing you need to concern yourself with."
"I found a room."
Mrs. Harrow went still.
"What room?"
Lyra watched her carefully.
"The one that belonged to Elias."
The silence that followed was different.
Mrs. Harrow looked genuinely shaken.
"How do you know that name?"
Lyra reached into her pocket and pulled out the photograph.
Mrs. Harrow stared at it.
Then she looked at Lyra.
"You need to leave."
Lyra frowned.
"What?"
"Leave this house."
"Why?"
"Because you don't understand what you're getting involved in."
"Then explain it."
"I can't."
"You won't."
Mrs. Harrow's eyes filled with something Lyra couldn't quite identify.
Fear.
Regret.
Maybe both.
"Elias was seventeen when he disappeared," she said quietly.
Lyra waited.
"What happened to him?"
"I don't know."
"Everyone keeps saying that."
"Because it's the truth."
"Then why is his room still here?"
Mrs. Harrow looked toward the hidden doorway.
"Because nobody was allowed to touch it."
"Who made that rule?"
The housekeeper didn't answer.
"Mrs. Harrow."
She finally looked at Lyra.
"His father."
Lyra's stomach tightened.
"Why?"
"Because he believed Elias would come back."
The words hung between them.
Lyra glanced at the photograph.
"Did he?"
Mrs. Harrow's face went pale.
"No."
She walked past Lyra and pushed the bookshelf back into place.
"Don't come back here."
Then she walked away.
Lyra remained where she was.
She waited until Mrs. Harrow disappeared before stepping back into the library.
Her mind was racing.
Elias had disappeared at seventeen.
His room had been left untouched.
Someone had written her name on a note inside that room.
And now Mrs. Harrow was telling her to leave.
There was too much she didn't understand.
But there was one thing she did understand.
The Hollow hadn't simply been waiting for her.
Someone had been waiting for her return.
---
That evening, Lyra found Rowan outside the bakery.
He looked surprised to see her.
"You look like you've seen a ghost."
"Maybe I have."
He laughed.
She didn't.
His smile faded.
"What's wrong?"
Lyra looked around before lowering her voice.
"Do you know anything else about Elias Hollow?"
Rowan's expression changed.
"Where did you hear that name?"
"Just answer me."
He hesitated.
"My grandmother used to say he wasn't the first person to disappear from that house."
Lyra stared at him.
"What?"
"She said there were others."
"Who?"
"I don't know."
"Rowan."
"I'm serious. That's all I know."
Lyra looked toward the Hollow in the distance.
The windows were dark.
Except for one.
The upstairs window beside her bedroom was glowing faintly.
She frowned.
"I have to go."
"Lyra—"
She was already walking away.
Halfway down the road, she stopped.
The light in the window went out.
Then, from somewhere behind her, she heard a quiet voice.
Not from the house.
Not from the village.
Right beside her.
"Don't trust him."
Lyra spun around.
The road was empty.
Only the wind moved through the trees.
And for the first time, she wondered if the voice she'd been hearing all along...
had been following her.