Lyra's face was notably different now. Her gold eyes were locked onto mine with an intensity I couldn't quite pin down. It wasn't her usual playful spark. No, this was deeper. Interested, but not in that lighthearted way. Eager, but not in that childish, gossip-y way. Something simmered there, pulling the air in the dining room even thicker. My fork scraped against the plate, the sound too loud in the sudden quiet, and I felt that weight settle between us, unspoken but pressing.
It reminded me of that afternoon a while back, when Lyra and I had been lying back on Isobel's bed, talking about the first time Isobel and I had hooked up. It'd been just like this back then, hadn't it? Same heavy atmosphere, same odd tension.
