Days passed, and somehow, Lynx had become part of their routine. He never really sought them out, but he also didn't walk away when they sat with him.
Conversations were still mostly one-sided. Nana did most of the talking, and Monica pitched in occasionally. Lynx responded with his usual short answers—"Yeah," "No," "Maybe," "Dunno." But over time, he seemed less like he was ignoring them and more like he just didn't know how to talk much.
One afternoon, as they sat together under a tree after school, Nana stretched her legs lazily. "You know, Lynx, for someone who barely talks, you sure don't mind us hanging around."
Lynx, leaning back against the trunk with his hands in his pockets, gave a slow blink. "Guess not."
Monica smirked. "That's basically his way of saying he likes our company."
Lynx didn't argue. That was progress—at least, that's what Monica told herself.
It wasn't anything dramatic, but somewhere along the way, Lynx had become less of a stranger. He was still quiet, still distant, but maybe… just maybe, he wasn't as cold as they had first thought.