"You're different, no?" She clicked her tongue softly, muttering something in her mother tongue. "When you were here last, you were different. Chaos in a decanter. You've been weathered, no?"

"Weathered?" Ronan frowned deeply. He wasn't keeping up, and beneath her gaze, he felt like a child. Like a dumb kid that wasn't catching on to what the rest of the class had already clocked onto.

"Hardened." She lifted a finger, wagging it towards him. "That is good. Before, you were petals in a breeze. That not good. That not do. No, no. Now there is a maybe."

"Now there is a maybe?" Ronan echoed in a sinking whisper. Why...