The first thing Lyra became aware of was pain. A dull, throbbing ache that seemed to encompass her entire skull, pulsing in time with her heartbeat. She groaned, throwing an arm over her eyes to block out the offensive sunlight streaming through her bedroom window.
As consciousness slowly returned, bringing with it waves of nausea and regret, Lyra felt the icy tendrils of "the fear" creeping in. That uniquely horrible combination of anxiety, dread, and mortification that comes with a hangover when you're not entirely sure what you did the night before.
Fragmented images flashed through her mind: the glittering ballroom, champagne flutes catching the light, Damien's hand on the small of her back, guiding her... where? The memories were frustratingly blurry. She remembered his lips on her
