Lira's lips press together in a thin line. Then turns softer as if she is sulking: "Fine. But I'm still pissed at you."
Morgan quirks a brow, feigning innocence. "At me? Whatever for?"
Lira crosses her arms, stepping back just enough to create a mini space between them, though her body still tilts toward him like a plant leaning toward sunlight. "You know what you did." Her lower lip juts forward, shaking as if she's holding back something bigger than her sulk.
Morgan sighs, resisting the urge to rub his temples, but forced to make the kind of sound meant to make her feel like she's ridiculous but adored all at once. "You'll have to enlighten me, sweetheart. My sins are so many, I lose track."
She gasps, affronted, and swats at his chest. "Don't say that like you're proud of it."
Inside, Luke smirks. "Oh, but we ARE proud. Every single one is a bead on the necklace and we'll strangle them when the time comes."
Damn right, boy—Morgan agrees.
