The next morning.
In the dining room downstairs.
Lyra Smith is having breakfast at the table.
Ever since Emery had been arranged to be here, she had been making delicious food for Lyra daily, not only with good taste but also with great appearance, tempting just by looking at it.
Now, Emery brings a borscht and puts it on Lyra's left-hand side: "It's too hot, eat the matsutake first and then drink it."
Lyra nods obediently, eating the matsutakes fried in butter on her plate first.
Halfway through, Lyra hears a faint noise from the corner of the stairs. She looks up and sees Morris Jackson coming downstairs.
The man looks a bit unwell after a hangover, but his face is still exceptionally clear, with sharp angles on his jaw and a touch of deep red on his lips.
He buttons up his collar and walks towards the dining room leisurely.
"When did you get up?" he asks Lyra.
