Lyra stared at the marriage certificate in Old Mrs. Covington's trembling hands, her mind spinning wildly. This couldn't be real. The document looked authentic—crimson cover, official seals, their names printed in stark black ink. Her fingers reached for it hesitantly, as if touching it might confirm the impossible.
"This... this can't be right," she whispered, examining the certificate closely.
Percival snatched it from her hands, his eyes narrowed with suspicion. "When exactly was this wedding supposed to have happened, Grandmother?"
Old Mrs. Covington's face clouded with confusion. "You don't remember your own wedding day?" She shook her head disapprovingly. "It was beautiful. You both looked so happy."
"Where was it?" Percival pressed. "Who attended? What date?"
The elderly woman opened her mouth, then closed it again. Her brow furrowed as she struggled to recall details. "I... I'm not sure. It's all a bit foggy now."