Lyra stopped eating at breakfast and nobody noticed for thirty seconds.
That was unusual. Lyra was the kind of person people noticed she had a quality of presence that made rooms aware of her even when she was being still, which Aelara had long suspected was the truth-sense operating at its passive register, the way a fire makes you aware of warmth before you turn to look at it.
So when she put her fork down and went completely quiet in the middle of a table full of conversation, it took half a minute for the gap to reach anyone.
Caelum noticed first.
He looked at his sister with the flat attention he used when he was reading something that required full focus. He did not say her name.
He just watched her and waited and after four seconds he put his own fork down.
Then Aelara noticed Caelum and looked at Lyra and felt it the bond thread that ran between her and her daughter had gone taut and strange, the way a string felt when something at the other end had gone rigid.
