Crash

The air in the living room was thick with unspoken animosity, a familiar tension that always settled whenever Lyra and Alexandra occupied the same space. Alexandra, sleek and composed in her dark red blazer, tapped a polished foot, her irritation barely contained.
"Lyra! Come here now!" Alexandra's voice, usually a purr, was edged with a demand that grated on Lyra's nerves.
Lyra stalked into the room, her combat boots thudding softly on the expensive rug. Her eyes, sharp and defiant, met Alexandra's with an unwavering glare. "What, what do you want?"
Alexandra gestured disdainfully at the scattered clothes and camping gear strewn across the floor. "What is this mess?" Her tone implied not just untidiness, but a personal affront.
"Um, I'm packing. I'm going to go with dad to Fort Peck," Lyra quipped, a smirk playing on her lips, knowing full well how much this trip irked her stepmother. The air crackled with their silent battle, a dance they'd perfected over years of mutual disdain.