"I used to play it," Ronan muttered. "I stopped." It should be easier to deflect the conversation to tennis except for the fact that quitting the team had to do with his father's death.

When the drones began to whisper to each other, their voices somehow menacing, Ronan wondered if that wasn't close enough to a lie to count.

He turned to face them. "What's your problem? I'm not one anymore. That's the lie."

Then he realized that their faceless eyes had focused on Stacia.

"...Do you know what their problem is?" His southern accent blurred the first two words together.