Lyra's heart raced as the sleek black car pulled up to the curb outside the orphanage. She smoothed down her simple sundress, feeling underdressed and out of her depth. The driver, a stoic man in a crisp uniform, opened the door with a polite nod.
"Ms. Maxwell," he said, "Mr. Blackthorn is waiting for you at the boutique."
As Lyra settled into the plush leather seat, her mind wandered to the events of the morning. Sophie’s unexpected manifestation of powers had left her shaken, bringing back painful memories of Amara. Part of her felt guilty for indulging in this afternoon of luxury while the children needed her. But another part, a part she rarely allowed herself to acknowledge, craved the escape.
The car glided through the city streets, leaving behind the familiar, worn buildings of L
