Lyra woke to a knock at her bedroom door. Morning light spilled in through the window, bathing the room in a soft, golden glow. She stirred, and the arm around her waist tightened, pulling her back against a warm, solid chest.
Jake.
Memories of the night before rushed in, and her heart fluttered at the feel of him behind her, still breathing deeply in sleep.
Another knock came, firmer this time.
“Lyra?” Her father’s voice was low but tense. “I want to talk to you for a minute.”
She turned toward Jake, who blinked awake groggily. “My dad,” she whispered, just as the door creaked open.
“s**t,” she breathed.
Lyle stepped into the doorway and froze. His eyes locked on Jake in her bed. Rage twisted across his face.
“Why the hell is he in my house?” Lyle growled, voice cold and sharp.
J
