"And who told you that?" Miranda's voice held steady, despite the thrum of anxiety beneath her skin. She planted her feet, refusing to falter. "That guy who saw me?" She let out a dry, humorless laugh. "Really, Lyra?"
She knew Lyra was the easiest to manipulate—the kindest, the softest. And if she wanted to maintain the act, she had to lie, and lie well.
"Tell me—did he also say why I was there?" Miranda pressed, her voice laced with a mixture of hurt and quiet accusation. Her eyes flickered with just the right amount of disbelief and indignation. "Because I couldn't sleep. You know how rough that bed is for me."
Lyra watched her closely, her expression unreadable. But Miranda saw it—the flicker of doubt, the hesitation creeping into her eyes.
"You've always known that about me," Miranda added, her voice softening. "When I can't sleep, I walk to calm myself down. I didn't realize I'd wandered too far until I was already lost in this maze of a mansion."
