Lyra's POV
Silas returned carrying an armload of equipment.
He had two hazmat suits folded with military precision, the kind of neat arrangement that came from genuine discipline rather than simple habit. Heavy-duty gloves thick enough that I could make out their bulk from where I stood. A set of metal pincers. A small, sharp blade. Then he pulled out a ziplock bag from his jacket and placed it next to the other items like he was setting up for the most routine task imaginable at two in the morning.
His eyes found mine.
Mine found his.
"We can't wear these inside," I said.
"I know." He was already dividing the supplies between us, handing me gloves and the plastic bag without hesitation. "We'd face a dozen questions before reaching the front door."
"We suit up once we're away from the main house. Far enough that nobody getting up for water can glance outside and wonder what we're doing."
