CHAPTER 5: THE ORCHARD OF MEMORIES

They found Lyra in the old Whitfield orchard, her bare feet dangling from the largest apple tree.

"I was waiting for you," she sang, swinging her legs. Blood dripped from her toes where the bark had bitten in.

Sabrina lunged forward, but Julian caught her wrist—the same wrist he'd kissed a thousand times, now ridged with scars from Lyra's first feeding.

"Look closer," he murmured against her ear.

The tree's branches shivered. Not from wind. From the dozens of tiny cages woven from willow shoots, each one holding:

A lock of hair (Julian recognized Sabrina's raven strands)

A baby tooth (his own, from the jar his mother kept)

A dried blackberry (from their first summer together)

Lyra giggled, plucking an apple. It split open in her palm, revealing a human eye nestled in the core.

"Father's right," she said, popping the fruit into her mouth. "You should always look closer."

Sabrina broke free, wrapping her arms around Lyra's waist to yank her down. The moment mother and daughter touched, the orchard exploded with movement:

Cages snapped open

Branches lashed like whips

The earth split to reveal a tiny skeletal hand

Julian grabbed them both, his body shielding theirs as the tree screamed its loss to the sky.

CHAPTER END: Back at home, Sabrina found fresh dirt under Lyra's fingernails—and a single pearl button clutched in her tiny fist.