Lyra whistled on her way through the door. "Hey dad." No reply, as usual. Yes, she did live with her father. U jelly? She trotted up the stairs into her room, which was small no matter how good you feel. The walls were littered with posters, including Justin Beaver with an X on his face. Lyra plopped backwards onto her bed, sprawling her arms out. A flute noise came from her cell phone. She squinted her eyes at it carefully. Mom again. Ignore.