"Elara... Ela!"
Elara heard her father's voice call sharply from behind.
She dragged her eyes from the show she was watching and turned her head just in time to see him storm into the living room, his face tight with anger.
"What is it, Dad?" she asked lazily.
"Have you not been hearing me scream your name?" he barked.
"I just answered you. So what's the problem? And really, why do you have to scream like I live in another building? We're in the same house," she added, flat.
She already knew—whenever he called her like that, he had something ridiculous to say. She braced herself for whatever nonsense it was this time.
"Your mother just told me you're planning to resume work at some shabby restaurant. Is that true?"
Elara gave a dramatic gasp.
"You mean Mom spoke to you... from her grave?"
Her father's eyes narrowed. "Don't play with me, kid."
She pouted.
