She looks out at the room, tiny brows creasing the barest bit as she flicks her glance from one person to the next, hesitating only a few fractions of a second on each. She reads them all, listening in to their thoughts and their expressions as if she could pick which ones to avoid by such a short excursion into their heads.

Sinthia glances at Steve again, and she avoids reading him, looking away only a millisecond later. "The one by the windows," she says impulsively. "It looks pretty over there."