chapter 11. A knock on the door

The booming, measured footsteps outside the barn made Gray and Lyra's hearts freeze. The guards' voices, rough and domineering, cut through the air like knives:

"...check everything here! He couldn't have gone far!

"He can't get away with that, puppy...

Lyra, pale as a sheet, pressed her finger to her lips, her eyes were huge with horror. She darted to a pile of old rags in the corner and began frantically scattering them.

— Help me! She hissed at Gray. — There should be a hole in the basement! My father was talking...

Gray, without hesitation, rushed to her. His fingers, accustomed to reading textures, slid over the rough floorboards, searching for a gap, a ledge, anything. Outside, the footsteps were getting closer. A hand roughly shook the bracket on their door.

—Hey, who's there?"

And then Gray's fingers came across a barely noticeable depression between two boards. He pricked it with his nails, and an entire section of the floor gave way with a soft creak, revealing a black pit that smelled of damp earth.

— First of all! Lyra whispered and, without aiming, jumped into the darkness.

Gray glanced at the door—it was already cracking under the onslaught—and dived after it, managing to slam the hatch behind him.

They sat in the icy, oppressive darkness, huddled together, and listened to the crates crashing over their heads, and rude voices cursing, finding nothing. Gray could feel Lyra trembling, not from the cold, but from impotent rage and fear.

After what seemed like a lifetime, the footsteps finally stopped. They emerged from their hiding place, covered in dust and cobwebs, and silently, by mutual agreement, they ran towards Gray's house, no longer hiding, driven by a single thought: to warn him.

Gray burst into the house through the back door, Lyra right on his heels. They burst into the kitchen, where Elina was chopping vegetables with a stony face. There was not a trace of surprise on her face at the sight of the breathless, mud-covered couple.

“Mom...” Gray began, gasping for breath.

“The guards,” Lyra breathed, cutting him off. “They’re looking for him. And me.” They're already combing the area.

The knife in Elina's hand froze for a moment, and then came down on the carrot with renewed force. Only the white knuckles on her hands betrayed the inner storm.

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"And why are the guards suddenly interested in you, Gray?" "What is it?" she asked icily, not looking at him.

Gray lowered his head. He couldn't lie. Not now.

"I... I tried to find out about Lyra. I was caught by a guard. I said... something about Vivian.

BAM.

The knife sank into the cutting board with a resounding thud. Elina slowly looked up at him. There was no anger, no reproach in her eyes. There was only pure, animalistic terror.

"You... what?" she whispered.

At that moment, Hugh emerged from the workshop. He looked tired and ten years older. But at the sight of the frightened children and the expression on his wife’s face, he was instantly alert.

“What happened?”

“Your son,” Elina’s voice was a taut string, “decided to question the guards about the plans of the maniac you so kindly omitted to tell me about! And now he’s being hunted!”

All explanations, all justifications, hung in the air. Right now, in this moment, it didn’t matter who was hiding what. The fact was that danger was on their doorstep.

And as if by evil providence, there came a steady, authoritative BANG on the door.

One. Two. Three. The heavy, metallic sound of a brass knuckle against wood.

A deathly silence fell over the house. Leo, drawn by the voices, stood in the doorway, his eyes wide.

The knocking came again, this time more insistent.

“Open up! City Guard! On behalf of the Colorist Guild!”

Hugh and Eline’s eyes met across the room. In that lightning-fast second, everything flashed between them: years, resentment, fear, love. And in that look, a decision was made.

Hugh nodded sharply in the direction of the back door.

“Lyra, take him to the workshop. Hide in the chemistry closet. Don’t breathe.

Lyra didn’t hesitate, grabbing Gray’s hand and pulling him away. Elina wasted no time, grabbing a mop from the table and furiously scrubbing the already clean floor as if nothing was happening.

Hugh took a deep breath, straightened his shoulders, and went to open the door. His face was a mask of calmness, but behind it was a universal weariness.

Gray, hiding in a dark closet, clung to the crack. He saw his father opening the door. Two massive figures in blue uniforms stood on the threshold, bathed in street light. One of them was the guard.

—Master Hugh,— said a gruff voice. "We're looking for a boy." Your son. For a conversation.

"With my son?" Hugh's voice sounded surprised and a little mocking. "What about? Didn't he return a library book on time?"

"About slandering the esteemed members of the Guild," the guard retorted without a trace of a smile. "And assaulting a member of the law enforcement."

"Assaulting?" Hugh laughed falsely. "You must be joking. He's a child. He's at home, in his room, reading. You can ask my wife."

He stepped back, letting them look deeper into the house, where Elina, her cheeks flushed from "work," was wiping her hands on her apron with a completely calm face.

—We have to make sure," the guard took a step forward, clearly intending to enter.

In that moment, Gray understood. His one reckless act led to the fact that the enemy crossed the threshold of his house. The war that his father had tried to keep quiet about had just begun. Right here, in front of his eyes. And now the outcome depended on his parents' fragile, desperate lies.