Day 32: Lyra’s Journal

I woke up to the sound of rain. Not the kind that falls in soft sheets, but the kind that hits the ground like tiny fists. My stomach was still full from yesterday’s rest, but my legs felt heavy as if I’d been walking through wet moss all night. I don’t remember where I was when I fell asleep, only that the air smelled like old stone and something else—something like Vex’s voice, low and urgent, whispering just before the river turned dark. I tried to push it away, but it clung to me like the wetness on my skin. So I went back to the ruins. The same ones I’ve been avoiding for days. The crumbling walls, the way the light slants through the cracks, the sound of the wind in the hollows between the stones—it’s all familiar, but it’s not safe. I don’t know why I keep coming here. Maybe it’s because the silence feels like it’s holding its breath. I sat on a rock, and for a moment, the world stopped. Not the rain, not the wind, but the feeling that something was watching from the shadows, not with eyes, but with a presence that’s just beyond hearing. It wasn’t scary. It was quiet. Like the space between thoughts.