Something's off with Lyre.
Her multicolored hair catches the morning light streaming through the RV's windows, but the usual sparkle in her cat-like eyes is missing. Her slender fingers drum against the table, creating an irregular pattern as her gaze drifts somewhere past my shoulder, unfocused and distant.
This isn't the Lyre I've come to know—the one who's always three steps ahead, confident to the point of arrogance and always ready with a sarcastic comment or cryptic warning. This one looks... worried.
"There's a reason you aren't very open with me, isn't there?" I ask softly, breaking the silence between us. She's completely stopped talking.
She sighs, her fingers pausing their restless dance. She taps the back of her phone with painted nails and gives me a smile, though it doesn't reach her eyes.
"If I say too much, I risk losing too much."
More cryptic answers.
"Losing what? I mean... you don't seem very attached to anything."
