Two nights of watching had taught Lyra one useful thing about Azel, and it had nothing to do with what he did.
It was what he didn't do.
People fidgeted. That was the whole of it, really; that was the entire secret of the seeker division reduced to one word. A man alone in a room scratched his jaw, or shifted his weight, or hummed something and then stopped and did not notice either the starting or the stopping. Lyra had spent nine years learning to read those small pointless motions, because small pointless motions were the only honest thing most people ever did.
Azel didn't have any.
