[Sion looks up sharply, eyes narrowing, a hand touching his head, the other raising sharply, his voice a cold, clear command in tone, nothing like the amiable tone so far.]

Lucile.

[Lucky won't sense any presence at all, nor see anything. But Sion is clearly addressing someone.]

Wait.

[And his focus is on Lucky now, but the gentle tone is a little colder, more businesslike and distant.]

Is the food not to your liking?