She watched the boy, watched the way his face fell for just a moment, watched the way he gathered himself back up. As someone who spent her whole life carefully sculpting her expression into what was expected of her, Luna knew well how to spot it on others.
Instead of daring to say anything that might reveal heβd let something slip, she instead picked up a blueberry and asked, easy and warm (Luna, after all, was adept at fakery), βhow did you meet Ava?β