Not for the first time, and far from the last, Lucy regrets herself. She shrugs at Dustin, and her eyes -- intent, a moment ago, in their study of him -- slide to the ground, the curl of her hand braced upon it. The knuckles are delicate, their skin dusted with old ink despite scrubbing earlier. Water whispers and air hums. She takes in the detail of the moment as if doing so will pause it completely. But that never works, and the silence weighs more than the question, so:

"I changed my mind," she says coolly, to fill it.

Her gaze flickers up to Dustin then, but it's a mistake looking into his face: she should know by now how difficult it's become to offer it untruths. Lucy's mind hasn't changed about much of anything, after all, only her willingness to share. Bravery is a useless gift with no followthrough. But what does a ghost do afterward, when there's nothing left unresolved?

Lucy smiles, apologetic, and shifts forward, reaching out with the fingers of her free hand. They draw themselves softly along the line of Dustin's jaw. Her thumb brushes his lower lip, and for a moment she hesitates over speaking again, distracted with tracing its shape. "I really only had one thing to say," she whispers, with wary honesty. "But I'll tell you another time."