They had been at Sol's crossing for four days when Lyra asked about her father.
Not for the first time. She had asked in smaller ways before the shape of him through the bond, whether he was tall, whether he laughed. Aelara had answered those questions the way she answered all of her daughter's questions: directly and without softening.
Yes, tall. She thought he laughed, sometimes not easily, but when something was actually worth it and he had paused the work long enough to catch it. She didn't know for certain because she hadn't been in the same room as him in over three years and what she had was the bond, which told her everything and not enough.
This question was different.
