"Her eyes are a little too alive," he said in an overly stealthy voice. I tried to warn him, but it was too late. "You're being too quiet," I told him. "You're drawing attention to yourself." He wouldn't listen. "I'm right, though, aren't I?" he intoned. It was barely above a whisper. He was right--I had to change the subject. "That's not the point," I breathed. "You're too--"
I could hardly hear myself. I had fallen into his beguiling attempt at fading into the woodwork, and now we both stood out more than if we had been shouting. I could feel their eyes on us. No one knew what we had been talking about, they only knew we didn't wish to be heard. Most of all, I could feel her eyes, glistening with something I knew not. 'Too alive.' I knew that.