The foundations of her world had shifted, but the Campbells' apartment looked the same as it always had, same old sofa, same kitchen tiles— even the commandeered bottle of wine en route to Lyra's room had the feeling of a familiar old routine, steps they'd both walked dozens of times before. Rosario had grown up in this place; she knew it almost as well as she knew her own family's apartment, and the familiarity had a kind of comfort to it, like the smell of Abuela's ruda soap.
The moscato helped, too, and Rosario took a deep swig from the bottle before kicking off her shoes and climbing onto the bed next to Lyra. "Just type in his name, I guess. No, wait, try 'Archer Goldenhawk' and 'Dubai'."