Chapter 109: The Glyph's Price
The pressed-bark manuals, inscribed with Lyra's careful glyphs, did not bring a tidy, organized dawn to the hidden war. They brought a flood of clumsy, earnest, and sometimes dangerous attempts. The network of notice was growing, but like any new, fragile system, it was prone to feedback and error.
The first report of trouble came from Anchor. Finn arrived at a run, breathless, not with fear, but with chagrin. "It's Old Harlow," he panted, leaning against the garden gate. "The net-mender. He got hold of the grounding glyph. Carved it into his front doorstep. Now… now the step won't let you feel anything else."
