Lyra's POV
Every single pair of eyes in that room turned from me to the boy from the meadows. His face stayed completely blank, but something about his stillness felt calculated. Like he was a hunter weighing whether his target was worth the effort.
I waited for him to speak. To counter my challenge with the same polished words he'd been using all afternoon. The silence dragged on far longer than it should have.
My father saw that pause as his cue to act.
His footsteps rang sharp and deliberate across the polished floor. I spun to face him and caught sight of his raised hand. Every muscle in my body went rigid, preparing for the blow I'd learned to expect from that angle and that murderous look in his eyes.
But his palm froze just inches from my face.
