[ As usual, Lucina hangs sharply onto every word he utters, letting no turn of phrase go unexamined. Perhaps it's a holdover from her time in the Shepherds, desperately trying to uncover the identity of her father's killer, ears pricked for anything - any sound, the coarse note of the match lighting before it could burn them all down.

She wonders, again, for the gods-know-how-many time, why Connor removes himself from every sentence. Why he picks out every last bit of himself from his own contemplation. ]

I wasn't asking about anyone, [ she says, a bit sharper than she might have intended. ] And there is no need to condescend to me like that.

[ That said, she continues on without missing a beat, marshalling the conversation like someone practiced in pulling rank. ]

For someone who asks as many questions as you do, you rarely offer the courtesy of answering them in turn.

[ True and not true. Easy questions, guiding questions - yes. He'll fall all over himself to provide assistance. Dig a little deeper, though, and he sidesteps in magnificent fashion. Over her shoulder, just so, Lucina's expression is a touch quarrelsome. (Really, though, her face is just like that.) ]