The first time Will truly observed the starry sky of Lyra's world was during his first journey aboard the Havest Perle. The ship was heading south towards Brytain. He realized that it looked exactly like his own. He wasn't well-versed in constellations, but some were familiar to him: the Big and Little Dipper, of course, Cassiopeia and Orion. Spotting them one night, while the ship sailed and he was besieged by doubts, brought him comfort. Then, one evening as they lay on the roof of the central building, their heads resting against each other, he had wanted to impress Lyra by naming the ones he knew, but she had gently teased him. Here, those arrangements of stars had different names. Cassiopeia became Circea, Pegasus became the Fire Chariot, and the Big Dipper became The She-Wolf.

"By the way, do you know what this one is called in my world?" he had asked, pointing at a group of five stars forming a small diamond shape.

"The Bee," she had replied, very seriously.

"No," Will had laughed, "we call it the Lyra constellation."

She had lightly nudged him, scolding him for teasing her to be a little romantic.

"I don't have the talent for inventing star names," he had said, kissing her cheek.

She had fallen silent then, her eyes shining.

It was beneath those same constellations, beneath the same sky, after all the intense events that had unfolded, that Will sat, Lyra cuddled up against him. She had kept her legs folded and rested her head against his shoulder, absentmindedly scanning the celestial mural that grew richer with every passing second of sparkling brilliance. Her fingers intertwined with his, and Pan coiled around her neck. She let out a long sigh. Will stood up and offered her his hand to help her up. Their limbs were sore. Close together, silent, they exchanged a long gaze. Then he leaned in to kiss her fresh lips, and she surrendered herself against him, responding to his embrace. Will wished he could merge with her forever. It was sweet and tender, soothing their minds a little more. They left the rooftop, still without a word, Pantalaimon and Kirjava padding softly ahead of them. A tranquil calmness permeated the ship's corridors, barely disturbed by the quiet hum of the engines. The night was well advanced. They entered the bathroom, where Lyra mechanically discarded her clothes, leaving them strewn on the floor, and stepped into a shower cubicle, with Will following suit. The warm water against her skin further affirmed the strange sensation of emptiness spreading within her. An anticipated emptiness, almost comforting. She allowed Will to lather her hair with soap. Tears welled up at times, mingling with the water, while his gentle touch on her scalp provided her with even more solace. He ran the spray against her head and back, held her tightly, kissed her lips and cheeks. Lyra felt emptied. Paradoxically, she could have stayed here forever.

She wrapped herself in a terry towel while Will quickly went to fetch her nightgown. Well, nightgown... It hadn't been high on her priority list when she left Oxford a few months ago. So Will had lent her a... - what was it called again? - a t-shirt, reminding her that they couldn't possibly be constantly naked in the room when he could be called upon at any moment. She had made a skeptical face at the style and patterns. Apparently, it was common in his world to display one's musical preferences on clothing, which she found very strange. But at present, she was more than delighted to feel the reassuring softness of the cotton, infused with the scent of the one she loved.

They returned to their room, their light footsteps echoing softly against the walls in the darkness. As soon as Lyra laid her head on the pillow, she fell into a deep sleep, with Pan curled up against her chest. Will settled on his side, propping himself up on his elbow to rest his head in his hand, and he looked at her. The effects of Serafina's healing mixture were stronger than expected; he wasn't sleepy. He brushed aside a strand of blond hair that crossed her peacefully sleeping face. He would have never imagined that such a storm had been devouring at her from within, and that she was so adept at concealing it. In truth, he had never imagined the existence of such a weighty prophecy. It all made sense now.

When Will set out to find her, he knew well that he wouldn't encounter the exact same Lyra he had left behind in Oxford seven years ago. The childlike face that lingered in his memory had long given way to the defined features of a woman. The slightly pronounced cheekbones, the freckles that dotted her cheeks and the bridge of her nose under the sunlight, and those lips, still tasting of honey. She has nothing to do with the frail and wild girl he had fought with, in Cittàgazze. Though she remained slender, the fragile appearance had vanished. She was firm and gentle at once, passionate and loving, strong and resilient, solidly grounded on her feet, her gaze as bright as ever, and damn, how he loved her. When she revealed her vulnerability in his arms, like tonight, his heart beat even faster. She didn't need protection; she needed support, and that made all the difference. He lay on his back, placed his hand on his belly, and exhaled slowly. He looked up, and his gaze met Kirjava's, sitting behind Lyra. Words were unnecessary between them; each knew what the other was thinking at that very moment. Everything was clear, and that was what Will cherished about having a dæmon by his side. There was gratitude for having Lyra and Pan, concern as well, and love, unconditionally. The sun began to rise, casting its soft ethereal light against the bedroom wall. Will kissed the young woman's cheek and silently got up.

Lyra slept through the morning. When she opened her eyes, the afternoon was already well underway. At first, she heard only the low and reassuring rustle of the ship. Then that sound merged with a slow and peaceful purring near her ear. She turned her head and saw Kirjava, settled by her side, staring at her with half-closed eyes, looking serene. Pantalaimon, still curled against her chest, yawned deeply.

"Good morning," the cat said in a gentle voice. "How are you feeling?"

Lyra sat up and perched on the edge of the bed. Pan leaped onto the floor and stretched his entire body. She ran her hand over her face and rubbed her neck. The emptiness that had consumed her body the previous night had given way to a profound and bewildering sense of calm.

"I'm not sure," Lyra replied. "Where is Will?"

"He's on his way."

She glanced at her reflection in the mirror hanging on the wall to her left. Her eyes were still slightly puffy from the events of the previous day, and her hair was in an indescribable mess. She grimaced at the thought of having to untangle it all and attempted to put some order back into it with an annoyed gesture, but in vain. The door opened, and Will entered briskly. When he saw her sitting up and awake, a flicker of relief passed through his eyes, and a smile lit up his face. He settled down beside her and embraced her tenderly.

"Are you feeling better?" he asked.

"It's more like I should be asking you that!" she exclaimed, inspecting him. "You look more refreshed!"

He smiled and closed his eyes as he felt her fingers tracing over his face.

"I'm fine. Serafina's molasses is truly remarkable, I'm impressed!"

Lyra seems satisfied with that response.

"What time is it?" she asked.

"Almost 2:30 p.m."

"Already?! I slept all this time?!" she exclaimed, getting up.

"You needed it, I believe," Will replied, watching her bustling around.

While talking about random things like cooking, Morten, who was certainly waiting for her grumbling, the radiant sun, her dreadful appearance, Lyra was changing, hastily putting on one garment and then changing it for another. She settled on a light linen blouse she had found in a thrift shop in Bodø before leaving. Having discarded most of her clothes between Istanbul and Berlin, she had bought in a rush a few new ones before departing. She covered her shoulders with Ma Costa's cardigan, then hesitated, took it off, put it back on, and took it off again. She inspected her reflection, wrinkling her nose, and grabbed a pencil to clumsily attempt to tame her unruly hair. Will watched her silently. Her exposed nape of her neck revealed her proud bearing, and he longed to put his lips on it. However, he remained seated, concerned. As she walked past him, he took her hand to stop her in her tracks.

"Lyra," he said softly, "do you remember what happened yesterday?"

She stopped, her gaze lost against the bedroom wall. Yes, she remembered. He gently pulled her to sit beside him, his thumb caressing the back of her hand.

"I remember being very scared," she began, biting her lower lip, "but then Serafina Pekkala finally arrived and gave you that mixture. And then she told us that..."

Her sentence faded into the air. With her free hand, she absentmindedly picked at the cuticles of her thumb with her index nail. Will held her fingers.

"I'm sorry," he said, "I'm sorry I didn't say anything when Serafina spoke to us. I'm sorry I wasn't by your side when you were angry. Her words... they unsettled me so much that I was incapable of saying or doing anything. But I should have."

She lowered her eyes, affected by the memory.

"It was all so dark," she said, her gaze troubled, "I've never felt so alone in my entire life."

She closed her eyelids and let out a painful sigh.

"I saw images, heard voices, felt like my whole body was going to explode. I wanted to hit myself so hard just to make it all stop... It was sincerely horrific."

Her hands tightened in Will's, and he felt sorrow chocking him. Lyra opened her eyes again, her azure pupils locked onto him, intense and shining.

"And then you came, Will. With a word, with a gesture, you chased away the fear and patched up what was left. It was as if the light returned. I never thought someone could have such power over me."

Her voice was nothing more than a whisper. Emotion bordered her lips, and tears welled up in her eyes. Will's heart throbbed so fiercely in his chest that it was almost painful. He held her tightly.

"I thought I was going to lose you," he said in a choked voice, "but you're so, so incredible…"

She let out a small, muffled laugh within his embrace. He pulled away, ran the back of his hand against his eyes, and once again held her hands in his. He cleared his throat and adopted a serious tone.

"Listen, you can't solve everything all at once. Some things take time. But I'm here with you. It's normal to feel sad, it's normal to feel angry. You need to let it all out from time to time, and you don't have to hide it from me. I want you to feel safe with me, safe enough to let out your emotions, even the negative ones. We'll face it together, okay?"

"It's not going to be very fun if I spend my time sobbing," she replied, sniffing.

"Lyra, it will be okay," Will said honestly and tenderly. "I love you."

There it was. It was enough to say everything and bring down her remaining barriers. Her eyes filled with tears once again, she shook her head and vigorously rubbed her eyelids, wrinkling her nose. She was tired of tears coming back unexpectedly. Will ran the back of his hand across her cheek and kissed her with a smile.

"Are you hungry?" he asked. "I think Morten saved you a plate."

At those words, Lyra's stomach began to rumble loudly. She hadn't had a proper meal in several days. Will let out a bright laugh and stood up, but she stopped him, her forehead furrowed with concern.

"Is this going to happen again?" she asked.

"Yes, I think so, I'm afraid," he replied, looking down. "But I'm staying focused on the next step: the window to New France. One thing at a time."

"And... what does it feel like to be so far from your world? What did you feel?"

Will took a moment to think. The pain had faded from his body, but the memory remained vivid.

"Do you remember how you felt when we crossed the river to reach the Land of the Dead?" he began. "Well, I think it's pretty much the same. You feel like your heart is being squeezed by a powerful hand, like your body is being crushed by a collapsing mountain. It's hard to imagine my father enduring that kind of pain for ten years..."

"And now? Are you suffering?" Lyra asked, swallowing hard.

He shook his head and answered, "For now, I'm fine. It's hard to say how long the witches' molasses will last, but I'm okay, I assure you. I sincerely hope it lasts a long time because it tastes really, really awful."

He shivered, and they walked through the doorway, heading towards the kitchen. Just before they arrived, he embraced Lyra once again. She took a deep breath against his shoulder, and then they entered the kitchen. Morten was leaning against the countertop, reading a book. When he saw Lyra, he put down his work and pulled her into his arms.

"Am I dead?" she laughed as she extricated herself from his powerful embrace.

"I was worried, you know!" the cook retorted, feigning offense. "I bet you're hungry. I'll prepare something for you, just wait. You need to regain your strength."

While Morten busied himself in the kitchen, explaining to Lyra everything she had missed in the past few days, she observed Will, who had placed a moka pot on the stove and was waiting for the coffee to brew. Kirjava and Pan had settled next to him, and the three of them were engaged in conversation. Something had changed in him, in the way he moved, spoke, and smiled, but she couldn't quite pinpoint what it was. Soon, the coffee pot began to gurgle cheerfully, and a sweet aromatic scent filled the room. Will poured three cups. Sensing Lyra's gaze fixed on him, he looked up, surprised. She flinched slightly, and her cheeks turned rosy.

"When did you become so quiet like this?" Morten asked, pulling her out of her reverie.

"When did you become so talkative like this?" Lyra replied, straightening up.

The Dane burst into loud laughter. He presented her with a steaming bowl of broth filled with vegetables and homemade noodles. Lyra's face instantly lit up. She reached for a spoon but paused to extract a reddish leaf.

"Is this edible?" she asked, skeptically.

"Seaweeds are very beneficial for the body," Morten explained with a serious expression. "Eat it all, it'll revitalize you."

Lyra complied as Will handed each of them a steaming cup. She couldn't help but burst into delighted laughter at the flavor of the meal. Morten began listing everything they had to do and what awaited them in New France. Revitalized by the meal, Lyra confidently grabbed her apron. Will planted a quick kiss on her cheek and left. It was a sign that things were returning to how they were before the storm. Or almost. The days resumed their usual rhythm, as did the evenings. The crew seemed happy to have the couple back in good health and even Mette patted Lyra's shoulder amicably, letting her know she was glad to have her back among them. However, Morten was right, Lyra was quieter. She hadn't resumed her storytelling in the evenings, spoke less in the kitchen, and sometimes, Will caught her lost in thought, biting her lip. He would then run his hand along her arm, pulling her out of her daydream to offer her an encouraging smile. And then the nights were different. The nights threatened to bring back the ghosts, so Lyra sought refuge in Will's embrace while he tenderly massaged her back, waiting for her to fall asleep. Sometimes, he kissed her with a little more longing, and she regretfully admitted feeling very tired. He made her understand that everything was fine, that he would wait until she felt ready because he loved her and desired her completely. He told her he wanted to take care of her in every possible way. Lyra felt her heart beating again as he traced his lips along her neck. Once again, he used that natural power to chase away the shadows, silence the voices, and bring back a bright sun within her, just through his caresses, kisses, and love. When she sighed with pleasure in his arms, it was like a rebirth. Will knew the road would be long, but he was ready to accompany her.

A warm breeze swept over the roof and inflated Lyra's blouse, the blue silk one Louise had left her. The same one she was wearing on the day she and Pan arrived in Bodø, when Will finally embraced her. She had grown to appreciate that blouse, perhaps because the fabric felt so pleasant against her skin, or perhaps because Will had told her the color suited her well. She had woken up early that morning, feeling more energized than she had in the past few days, and still carried that sense of calm within her. She had embarked on preparing the morning porridge by herself, much to Morten's surprise when he arrived later.

Now, she gazed at the sun-kissed, wind-swept stretches of land that the ship sailed alongside. On the horizon, heavy rain clouds were gathering and advancing toward the shores. Oxford was starting to feel like a distant memory. Its damp alleys, comforting rooftops... she realized she had no idea when she would set foot in St. Sophia's or Jordan College again. The Master must have thrown her belongings into a gutter by now. Did she matter to anyone at all? Dame Relf? She probably had other things to worry about. Professor Polstead? He had always been so kind to her. Alice Lonsdale? She might be concerned about Lyra's prolonged absence; Lyra would send her a letter upon reaching Montroyal. In fact, she could suggest to Will the idea of returning to Oxford with her.

"Will and Kirjava need to pass through a window from time to time, you heard what Serafina said," her dæmon reminded her, as if reading her thoughts.

"And there are no windows in Oxford," Lyra sighed.

Suddenly, Pan let out a small squeak of surprise, his eyes turned towards the shoreline. They hadn't realized that the boat had slowed down and the first houses were appearing. Soon, it was the entire city of Montroyal, illuminated by the rising sun, that stood before their eyes. They hastily left the roof, descended the ladder and stairs in long strides, and entered Will's study without warning. Will yawned as he massaged his stiff neck. He startled when he saw them arrive, his glasses slipping from his hands and falling to the ground with a light clinking sound.

"What's happening?" he asked, bending down to pick up his glasses. He inspected them before placing them on the table.

"We've arrived!" exclaimed Lyra. "Hurry up!"

She stood in the doorway, fidgeting and tapping her foot. For a brief moment, Will saw the Lyra he had known seven years ago. Some things would never change, and he burst into laughter.

"There's nothing funny!" she said.

She was much more impatient than he was, and his heart swelled with tenderness.

"Hey, don't panic," he said, gently taking her arm. "The boat hasn't even docked yet. We'll find the window, don't worry."

He leaned in to kiss her before she pouted, and the speakers crackled:

"Approaching docking in Montroyal! This journey hasn't been an easy one. Congratulations to all! We'll be staying for three to four days to fully repair the damaged turbine and get some rest. Mechanics are expected in the wheelhouse for a debrief. Cargo handlers, report to your stations with Hassan. The rest of you, either for shopping or rest. Enjoy your stay."

Once the ship was docked, Will and Lyra left the deck. As they leaped onto the port ground, Lyra stumbled, and Will caught her by the waist.

"You've gotten used to the ship's movements," he explained. "It'll feel strange for a few hours, and then it'll pass."

They walked towards the business district of Montroyal. It was a flamboyant city, with wealthy bourgeois houses and well-maintained streets. It thrived on international trade and its status as the capital of the country and the continent. Every building, every tree, and every sign had a designated place; everything was clean, and nothing unnecessary protruded. This city had little resemblance to the perpetual chaos that reigned in Bodø. They expected to find the window near the courthouse, but upon arrival, they didn't find the park they were searching for. Undeterred, they continued down the street, scanning the buildings. Kirjava drew their attention towards the parallel sidewalk. There stood a pub, with a molding above the door representing a closed-eyed angel with a finger on its lips, and an elegant sign in golden letters that read "The Quiet Angel". Next to the pub was a hotel, appropriately named "Courthouse Hotel", surrounded by a charming little park. Guided by Will's instinct, they pushed open the gate and circled around the building.

"It's here," he said, coming to a stop.

In a corner along the hotel wall, they spotted a barely perceptible glimmer. Will stepped forward, his breath quick and hesitant.

"I really have the feeling that it's a window to my world," he declared, a hint of excitement in his voice.

But behind him, he heard nothing but silence. He turned around and was startled to see Lyra standing still, staring at the window, frightened. Pantalaimon, at her feet, looked equally concerned.

"I can't cross, Will," she said in a trembling voice. "I'm sorry."

"What are you talking about?"

"I... I'm scared. I have a feeling that if I cross, something terrible will happen, that I'm heading towards my doom..."

Will stared at her, dumbfounded. Kirjava stood up and placed her front paws on the young man's thigh.

"Will," she called to him in a whisper, "the angel..."

He remembered Kaisa's words. In front of every window stood an angel whose mission was to discourage all beings from crossing the windows. Everyone except him, the Bearer. And for this particular window, the invisible angel was discouraging Lyra in some way. But Will was not having any of it; they would all cross together. He approached her and took her hand. Lyra continued to stare at the window, her eyebrows furrowed with a certain terror.

"Look at me," Will said gently. "We're going to cross together."

She shook her head vigorously, deepening the crease in the center of her forehead. He leaned in to intervene between her and the object of her concern, capturing her gaze.

"Lyra, there's an angel here that wants to prevent you from passing. It's normal, it's their role. Now, if you trust me, close your eyes and let yourself be guided. I won't let go of your hand."

She looked at him for a moment, then took a trembling deep breath before closing her eyes. He tightened his grip on her hand and started moving forward, gently pulling her to stay close to him. She placed her hand on his back and clung to his tunic. Pantalaimon had found refuge on her shoulder. The closer they got to the window, the more the dæmon dug his claws into Lyra's skin. She released her hold on Will's upper body and placed her palm over the eyes of the pine marten, preventing him from looking. Standing in front of the window, Will wrapped his arm around the young woman's waist. He waited for a moment, his dark and stern eyes fixed on the window. There was an almost inaudible rustling, and then he leaned towards Lyra's ear.

"We're going to pass through the window now, okay? Don't worry, everything will be fine."

They took a simultaneous big step forward.

A wave of warm, humid air greeted them, momentarily taking their breath away, and Lyra opened her eyes. Surrounding them was dense vegetation, with branches, leaves, and tall grass brushing against her arms. They could have easily believed they were in the middle of a forest if it weren't for the faint murmur tickling their ears. Will stepped forward, keeping his hand in hers, and they emerged from the thicket. They found themselves in a well-maintained paved path, plastic garbage bins lining the way, and in the distance, they could hear laughter. They had evidently arrived in a large park. A man, sitting on a nearby bench, turned his head towards them, intrigued by this strange quartet emerging from the bushes.

"Do you recognize the Montreal of your world?" Lyra asked.

Will remained silent for a moment, observing their surroundings. Trees, benches, fences, and ahead of them, an oak bridge where strollers stopped to admire the view. They walked onto the bridge, which spanned a short body of water, and in the background, they saw tall buildings contrasting against the cloudy sky.

"I don't know, I've never been to Montreal, but it doesn't feel like it... It looks more like New York."

"New York?"

Will nodded, perplexed and added : "It's strange... I had the feeling that no matter which city I found myself in my world, there was an equivalence in yours. The same name, some similar streets. Oxford, Bodø... But here…"

They began to move forward, slowly, analyzing their surroundings. Lyra asked him if he had ever been here, in New York. He shook his head.

"No, but my mother did. She spent two years here for her studies. It's actually where she met my father. She would sometimes tell me about her life here, the university, the parties, the walks along the Hudson River..."

He displayed a tender smile as he reminisced about certain memories.

"What was your mother like?", Lyra asked.

"Loving, caring... I don't really have any points of comparison, but for me, she was obviously the best. When I was a child, she took care of me, took care of others. But the illness eventually took over, and I quickly had to take care of her in turn, to prevent others from interfering in our lives and separating us."

"They separate parents from their children?"

"Yes, of course, if it's realized that parents are no longer providing the expected care, among other reasons, their children are taken away and entrusted to other families."

"... That's horrible…"

"Not necessarily. It's often a necessary evil for the greater good. But in my case, I wouldn't have been able to bear being separated from her. When the illness granted her some respite, she had a great sense of humor and wisdom. I wish you could have met her, you would have gotten along so well. She was very cultured, read a lot of philosophy and poetry, listened to music. She taught me so much."

"So what happened then?"

Will shrugged, his hands diving into his pockets, his gaze troubled.

"It's hard to say. I think my father's disappearance took a toll on her. And all those people who were after her... It's possible she also had a predisposition for depression. It sneaks in insidiously, you know. It starts with images, ideas that settle in, slight obsessions that become increasingly burdensome. Loved ones don't necessarily notice right away, and by the time they do, it's often too late. When I returned to Oxford after our adventures, I did my best to be there for her."

"I'm sure you did your best, and no one else could have protected her better than you," Lyra said, tenderly placing her hand on his back.

"Fortunately Mary was there," he continued, clearing his throat. "It was really difficult."

He waved his hand in front of his face, as if trying to chase away unpleasant images. "I prefer to remember her, our games, her advices, her songs..."

"Ah! So that's why you're always singing! You inherited that from your mother!" Lyra exclaimed.

He looked surprised and blushed slightly.

"It's true that you've had that habit since Elaine passed away," Kirjava calmly remarked, trotting alongside them.

"You have a beautiful voice," Lyra added. "I love hearing you sing."

She snuggled against him. He wrapped his arm around her shoulders and kissed her temple.

"I'm truly grateful to have you by my side today," he said softly.

Sheltered by the cool shade of tall trees, they strolled leisurely along the path. Runners and cyclists brushed past them, while walkers sought respite on shaded benches, and no one seemed to pay them any mind. They passed a group of German tourists entering the park and arrived at Fifth Avenue. The honking horns, thunderous engines, bustling crowds, and the acrid smell of exhaust fumes mixed with the greasy aroma of a hot dog stand assaulted their senses. Lyra's eyes widened in astonishment at the towering buildings.

"Why are the buildings so tall?" she wondered.

"It's a highly populated city."Will explained "Watch out!"

Lyra had stepped onto the crosswalk without looking, too absorbed in this bustling, new environment. A taxi narrowly missed her, blaring its horn loudly. Lyra watched it pass, outraged.

"Why are there so many people here?" she asked as they finally crossed the street.

"There are people everywhere," Will replied. "We're a little over eight billion on this Earth."

"Eight? Billion?! But why?!"

"That's a good question... Capitalism, I suppose" he answered.

Above them, the sky grew increasingly ominous. A low rumble echoed in the distance.

"There's going to be a storm," Will observed. "We should find a place to take shelter."

"How about here?" Lyra suggested, pointing to a large building with light-colored walls.

"That's a museum," Will replied. "We could, but animals aren't allowed, even though I know you're not animals, Pan, but that's how it works here..."

"We'll manage," Kirjava declared. "We'll find a spot behind the museum and meet up with you when the weather calms down."

Before Lyra could protest, the two dæmons moved away. She felt a small pang in her heart as she noticed that Pantalaimon didn't look back. Heavy raindrops began to fall, releasing scents of petrichor and warm asphalt. Soon, it turned into a downpour, and they entered the MET's hall, damp and wet. Lyra's eyes widened once more as she admired the high domes that loomed above them. The museum had just opened, and several dozen people were beginning to wander through the hall, heading to different wings. Outside, the thunder and rain created a symphony of sound.

"I think the storm will last a while," Will said. "Do you want to take a look around?"

Lyra nodded enthusiastically. At the reception desk, Will requested two tickets and handed over his credit card and his British student ID card. He always kept these cards with him, just in case he returned to his world outside of Bodø. He entered his PIN, and the receptionist handed him the two tickets, a museum map, and wished them a pleasant visit. They randomly made their way towards a grand staircase, heads held high. At the entrance of a room, Will unfolded the map.

"I think these are 19th-century European paintings, but I'm not sure if..."

He looked up and realized that Lyra had vanished. Panicked, he turned around, scanning the faces The crowd of visitors grew around him. He entered the gallery and briskly walked through the rooms, weaving through people analyzing the paintings. Finally, he stopped when he spotted Lyra facing a Gustave Courbet's painting, "Woman with a Parrot", deep in thought, her index finger resting on her lower lip. He approached her and placed his hand on her upper back. Lyra flinched slightly and looked up at him.

"Let me know before you disappear like that," he whispered.

She gave him an apologetic smile, and he intertwined his fingers with hers.

"It looks like it's her dæmon," she said, pointing to the bird. ""Look how they seem so close... And the lighting, have you seen it? And the texture? It's extraordinary!"

They wandered through the galleries for a good part of the day, admiring the works of Monet, Van Gogh, and Degas, pondering over ancient sculptures, chuckling like two fools at others, marveling at the treasures of the Arab world, and most importantly, joyfully discovering that they shared the same taste in art. With heavy legs from hours of walking, they left the museum under the rays of sunlight piercing through a few reluctant clouds. The storm had not alleviated the air; on the contrary, the rain had intensified the heat of the asphalt, making the atmosphere thick. Kirjava and Pantalaimon quickly rejoined them on the museum steps. A few curious glances were cast their way. Seeing a man with a cat on his shoulder was indeed unusual, but far less surprising than seeing a woman with a pine marten in her arms.

"Are you hungry?" Will asked. "We could find something to eat."

"We should have brought snacks," Lyra lamented.

"Why? There's plenty to eat here, isn't there?"

"Yes, but it bothers me that you pay for everything... unless our worlds have the same currency?"

"The currency is not the same in every country," replied the young man. "But you know what? Let's consider it a date!"

Lyra's eyes sparkled with excitement.

"Oh, yes! Take me on a date like in your world! How does it work?"

"Well, you take the person you're interested in to places you enjoy, to see if it's a 'match'," he explained, putting his arm around her shoulders. "The museum was a good start."

"Yes, that definitely 'matches'," Lyra agreed with a serious nod.

"Afterward, you can take the other one to a restaurant or a bar, or maybe to a concert or just a park. Where do you want to go?"

"You're the one taking me on a date, not the other way around! Surprise me!"

"Hmm," Will pondered. "I'll be better at surprising you in Bodø. Or better yet, in my Oxford."

Those words had a comforting effect on Lyra. They implied that Will hadn't given up any hope.

"I really liked the park, it's more peaceful," she acknowledged.

Will nodded. The noise, the hustle, and the heat were overwhelming. He left her for a moment to buy two hot dogs from a street vendor. As Lyra watched him interact with the merchant, she noticed a change in his posture. His shoulders relaxed, his back straightened, and the tired lines that had strained his face seemed to vanish. His muscles regained strength, and a newfound sparkle lit up his eyes. She stared at him, both amazed and saddened, as he returned to her with his hands full.

"Are you okay?" he asked, handing her a warm hot dog and a large cup dotted with fresh droplets.

She nodded and they ventured deeper into Central Park. Finding a shaded bench, they settled down to finish their late lunch. Lyra took a sip of the soda and grimaced.

"Whoa! It's super sweet!"

"You don't like it?" Will asked.

"I never said that," she replied, taking another sip.

Will smiled, extending his arm over the backrest of the bench and running his fingers through her hair. The skin at the edge of her hairline felt damp.

They sat on the bench for a long time, watching the passersby strolling by and the squirrels jumping from branch to branch. The two dæmons played, chasing small flying insects, and the buzzing of bees mixed with the children's laughter as they ran nearby. Lyra asked questions about objects people were carrying, about ideas sparked by something she saw on the street, and Will, his hand still buried in her blond hair, answered in a calm voice. Slowly, the sun began its descent, slipping between the tall buildings and casting a golden glow through the leaves of the trees.

Lyra turned her face towards Will, a sad smile on her lips, and caressed his cheek.

"I don't want to see you suffer like this anymore. It's too difficult. If you want to stay here because you're in better shape and health, tell me..."

"I'm not sure if that's what I want," Will said in a low voice.

He let his hand slide down to Lyra's nape, his thumb resting against the curve of her neck, before sliding his fingers beneath the hem of her blouse, at the border of her shoulder blades. Lyra felt her face heat up. She leaned in to kiss him, Will's hand grazing her cheek, and warmth spreading throughout her entire body.

"Let's go," he whispered, "let's go home."

Home.