Lyra's POV Corvin arrived at Moonveil the next morning. Not because we had invited him. Because he had driven through the night from Crestfall and appeared at the border at seven with a bag over his shoulder and the expression of someone who had decided that whatever was coming next was coming faster than he had planned for and being alone and careful was no longer the right strategy. He was younger than he looked from a distance. Late twenties, maybe thirty, with the sharp eyes that I had noticed in Crestfall and underneath them something that I recognized now that I was looking for it. Grief. Old and specific. The kind that had been living behind the professional composure for long enough that it was part of the architecture of his face. I met him at the gate. "You read the reports," he said. Not a question. "Yes," I said. "Dorian," he said. "Yes," I said again. He looked at me steadily. "How much time do we have?" "Tell me what you know," I said. "And then we will work ou
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