It happened on a Thursday.
Not because Thursday was significant. Not because anything particular had been planned for it or because the day had a quality that made it the obvious choice. It happened on Thursday because that was the day Lyra woke up and understood, somewhere before she was fully awake, that she was tired.
Not physically.
Tired of the other thing.
The management of it had become so automatic over the years that she had stopped experiencing it as effort. It was just part of how she moved through the world, the low continuous work of keeping Selene contained, not suppressed, never fully suppressed, just held at a distance from the surface, held where she could not be felt by anyone who was paying attention.
