—Evelyn Baker The Crier Apartments, nowhere near enough hours later “WHERE THE HELL WERE YOU LAST NIGHT?” Lyra’s voice cut through the fog of sleep like a knife through a swamp bromeliad. My eyes snapped open a split second before I sat bolt upright in bed, turning to stare at her. She was standing next to my bed, arms crossed, and a deeply irritated look on her face. “Oh, good, you’re awake. Because I was awake until almost midnight waiting for you to come the hell home so I could yell at you. What the hell, Valerie?” That was enough to bring me the rest of the way from disoriented grogginess into full wakefulness. “Lyra, please, stop shouting. What time is it?” “It’s good that we’re both talking about time, since you don’t seem to have any for me these days,” she snapped. “I knew things would be different with your boyfriend and sister hanging around—and don’t think I haven’t been tempted to report them both to Adrian, with the way you’ve been letting yourself get distracted—but I didn’t expect you to go and replace me with a newer model.
