The Thorne Protocol
His fingers flew over the interface, adjusting the settings she had demanded that afternoon.
The amber lights dimmed, then vanished entirely.
For a heartbeat, there was total, terrifying darkness. Then, a single, focused beam of white light descended from the ceiling, illuminating only the petrified wood desk and the two chairs facing each other. Everything else—the bookshelves, the corners of the room, the ceiling—was swallowed by an impenetrable black.
"Sit," Silas commanded.
Lyra sat. Across from her, Silas remained standing in the shadows just outside the pillar of light. He looked like a specter, his white shirt glowing faintly, his face a collection of sharp angles and deep shadows.
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