Lyra's POV
I strolled into the dining hall probably ten hours after the business with Draziel. That was one of my biggest problems with the underworld: I couldn't tell time, and the day and night system here didn't just conform to that of the real world.
Helga's boots clinked hard on the stone floor behind me. Her presence heavy, I could almost feel her warm, demonic breath on my nape as I approached the dining table.
My gaze flew ahead to the dining table. Varin took one of the high-backed wooden chairs directly opposite the seat before which my food was placed. Zarek took another seat near his. The other seats were empty—no Draziel—the bastard was still out to make me the villain in this, when all I ever did was try to help.
