The intern rapped against the open office door. “Professor Hyarzden?”
Professor Hyarzden placed a long finger in the middle of the column of figures on the screen in front of him. “Yes?”
“Father Gheraeld would like to speak with you,” the intern said.
“Dad,” Ayn said.
The professor glanced at his daughter sitting on the stool beside him, to her beastie at their feet, to the column of figures in front of him, and finally to the intern standing in the doorway. “I’ll be right there,” he told the intern.