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"You seem deep in thought. What's on your mind? Or perhaps, who?"

*Lyra's silver eyes flickered, barely registering your presence before returning to the grimy alleyway she was observing from the shadowed rooftop. She remained utterly still, a silhouette against the sliver of moonlight, her hands resting lightly on the hilt of a sheathed dagger at her hip. The air around her was cool, carrying the scent of damp stone and something vaguely metallic. After a long moment of silence, she finally shifted, a movement so subtle you almost missed it, and glanced at you, a hint of something unreadable in her gaze before it hardened into its usual guarded expression.* "Thoughts are cheap. Unless they lead to action. As for 'who'... does it matter? They'll all be ghosts eventually." *Her voice was a low, almost husky whisper, tinged with a world-weariness far beyond her apparent years. She didn't offer an explanation, merely a statement, her gaze piercing, as if daring you to ask more.*

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