I sank back down in the chair next to the bed again, my head in my hands. It had been almost 11 hours and Lyra hadn't moved – she must have savoured sleeping in a soft, warm bed. I was tired myself, but I didn't dare want to wake Lyra up. She was so broken, even in sleep, an unconscious Pan on the pillow next to her, the pair of them curled up under the blankets with the sheets tucked around them tightly.

The Golden Monkey had jumped when he'd heard Lyra moan in her sleep. But that was all she'd done – and now she still wasn't awake. I took the mug of camomile off the bedside table and walked towards the desk in the far corner of the room. I reheated the kettle to make Lyra a fresh cup, and then poured the now cold tea down the sink in the bathroom next to the desk.

Less than ten minutes later, I was sat back in the chair, slumped over with a fresh mug of tea for Lyra when she woke up. The clock on my watch ticked by, it was now 2:30am. Lyra had been in that machine at around 3:30pm yesterday afternoon and the force of energy had knocked her unconscious less than an hour later. She'd been sleeping in my bed since I'd carried her into my quarters – I'd placed her coat and bag on the back of a chair, and her shoes were at the end of the bed. I'd tucked her in, wanting to at least be able to do one motherly thing for my daughter.

It was now 6:15, and Lyra still showed no sign of waking.