She doesn't, though. Lyra's never had restraint, that's not who she is. It's always been this way in their friendship: Rosario's the one who looks, Lyra just leaps. Like the time with the fire alarm when they were eight. What d'you think would happen, she asked, and Rosario told her. The alarm'll go off obviously. And then we'll get in do much trouble. I think you can even be arrested for pulling the alarm when there's no fire— but Lyra wasn't properly listening because her eyes were fixated on that bright red panel, and Rosario said Lyra no but Lyra moved too fast, seized the lever with an impulse that was all Lyra yes.
When Lyra gets an idea like what would happen if in her head, it's only a matter of time before she makes it happen.
Rosario grips the bottle with both hands, feeling cold. A river of amber and a bird flailing in the current and her stuck on the far bank without any way of reaching it—
"They made us forget you," she presses, an urgency in her chest. "I can't deal with that, I can't deal with it happening again. You might not get out a second time, you're lucky but you're not that lucky. And are you forgetting they hurt you? I saw how bad your hands were messed up."