The impossible invitation

The door had not been there yesterday. Lyra knew this because yesterday the wall had still been screaming.

Now it waited between two crystallised memories, narrow and blue and patient as an old promise. Light breathed around its frame. With each breath, the compass in Lyra's palm turned another impossible degree.

The Glass Expanse sang behind her in seven-part harmony. Somewhere beyond the dunes, the Dawn Cartographers were packing camp, believing their newest route had failed.

“You remember me,” she whispered.

The handle began, very slowly, to smile.