Nox held the letter. The paper was thin, the ink a shimmering silver. The words felt less like they were written and more like they were an intrinsic part of the page itself. 'A new antagonist,' he thought. 'He calls himself the Dramaturg.'
Serian read the letter over his shoulder. Her warmth was a steady presence against the cold chill coming from the page.
"Aerthos," she whispered. "He's attacking Lyra's world."
"He's not attacking it," Nox said. "He's rewriting it. And he's using it as bait to draw me out."
'The peace was nice while it lasted.' He folded the letter. The quiet life was over. He felt a familiar, weary weight settle back onto his shoulders. It almost felt like coming home.
"What are you going to do?"
