Mira shoved her way out of the kitchen before they could pile on more ridiculous questions. Their laughter trailed after her all the way down the hall, hot on her ears. She reached her room, slammed the door shut, and leaned against it, pressing both hands to her face.
"Ughhh, what is wrong with me?" she groaned, sliding down until she was sitting on the floor.
For a second she just sat there, cheeks puffed, scowling at nothing. She wasn't supposed to smile like that. Not because of some guest. Guests were trouble. Guests meant more problems. That was the rule.
And yet… she thought of his voice.
That flat, casual tone. "Oh, you're still here?"
Her lips twitched before she could stop them. She slapped her cheeks again. "Stop that! No smiling! He's just… he's just clueless. Like a walking brick wall. That's all."
She stood, pacing her small room, arms crossed.
"Didn't even look twice at me," she muttered. "All the others trip over themselves, say stupid things, try to impress me. He? Nothing. Just acted like I was some… random person."
Her pacing slowed. She realized she was pouting. Actually pouting.
"Why does that bother me?" she whispered, horrified.
Flopping onto her bed, Mira buried her face into the pillow. She kicked her legs, half angry at the world, half angry at herself. But still, his clueless expression wouldn't leave her head.
And neither would that strange, shifting shadow at his feet.
Her eyes narrowed, annoyed with herself. "I don't even know what he is. He could be dangerous. Probably is. And here I am smiling like a fool."
Silence settled in. The faint murmur of the inn faded.
Finally, Mira sighed and curled onto her side, clutching the pillow. Her last thought before sleep slipped in was muttered softly, reluctantly:
"…He really is different."
And despite her best effort, the smile returned—small, stubborn, and completely out of her control.