[Zeph]

I had just finished my small portion of fruit—a sweet, perfectly ripe handful of berries—and was settling back into my favorite mystery when the sun was blocked out.

A shadow, sharply defined, fell over my lap and the open pages. When I looked up and saw Lyra standing there, her face contorted with frustration and something colder, I felt an instantaneous spike of anxiety. I didn't know what the proper protocol was, short of acknowledging her: “Hello, Lyra—”

“Don’t ...