JACK-EYE
Three hours of silence is my limit. I fiddle with the volume dial just to give my hands something to do. Something like not sliding through the messy bun Lyre's created out of her rainbow-colored hair.
"So... sleep. That's still a thing, right?"
She doesn't look at me. "I'm fine."
Okay.
The temperature in the car drops ten degrees with those two words. Not literally—though with Lyre, you never know. I clear my throat and lean back in my seat.
She's been like this ever since Grace called. That girl has a talent for finding trouble, and it rivals Caine's talent for making enemies. The fact they're bound together is cosmic irony.
She seems sweet, though. Sweet enough to keep a feral witch like Lyre loyal to the girl.
Am I jealous? Maybe a little.
"Where are we headed, anyway?" I keep my voice casual, fishing for any reaction beyond her stone-faced focus on the road.
But it's not Lyre who answers, damn it.
