EIGHT
Lysander ate up every word. Listening intently, not interrupting to ask questions, not even during the most outrageous parts of my story, or when I was certain I was rambling.
"And then, well, here we are," I said, wrapping up. Nerves crept in as soon as my words trailed off, and I shoved a piece of cheese into my mouth.
He nodded, rising from his stool to pace the short length of the room with his hands laced at the back of his neck. His pacing made the space feel constricting, as if the walls were closing in on us. I shifted on my stool, my fingers twisting into the fabric of my skirt beneath the table.
The moments ticked by without him uttering a word, causing the unease in my gut to worsen.
Then he faced me, eyes full of eager curiosity. "Can you show me? This power the Moth
