No one spoke as the bronze gate drifted inward.The movement was almost gentle. There was no explosion of force, no violent crash. Ancient hinges groaned under a weight they had carried for centuries, and a low, grinding rumble rolled across the chamber before fading into the abyss beneath the bridge.The company stood frozen.The hundreds of handprints covering the gate caught the lantern light, each one pressed into the metal at a different angle. Some belonged to children. Others were broad enough to have come from giants. Fingertips, palms, even broken nails had been preserved in the bronze, as though desperate hands had tried to push the doors shut before time hardened them forever.Lyra couldn't look away. "They weren't trying to get in," she murmured.The Guardian's shoulders sagged. "No," he whispered, his voice barely audible. "They were trying to keep it closed."The realization settled over the group like a fresh coat of ice.Astrid stepped onto the bridge first. The
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