More than anything

There it is. She's received that cautiously worded inquiry often enough to know the real question it's covering (something closer to 'good god, what's happened to you?'), and she flinches as if that's what he actually asked her.

Which only makes matters worse, of course. She really wishes she was better at lying.

Not that there's much point in wishing.

"Oh," she starts, as if she might be able to pull off some casual dismissal. Her throat is already starting to ache in a too-familiar way, though, and she doesn't trust her voice, so she trails off into a small, frustratingly hapless shrug. She knows what a worthless offering that is, but for the moment, it's all she's got.