Rex just looked at her with an expression that indicated he was weighing whether a response was warranted.
It wasn't discomfort but something akin to quiet attention, which felt somehow worse than if he had laughed or deflected.
"I'll add it to my list of credentials," he said after a moment.
"Please do," she said, pointing the fish knife at him. "Right after 'can calculate refraction but gets it slightly wrong.'"
"Twenty-nine point five," Rex replied. "I was rounding."
"You were rounding up."
"Conservatively."
"Incorrectly."
He almost smiled. She noticed it—the way the corner of his mouth twitched before he suppressed it—and tucked that observation away without saying anything.
'There it is,' she thought. 'He's got a sense of humor in there...'
'He just keeps it on a very short leash.'
'I kind of want to find out what it takes to let it off the leash.'
She opened her mouth to say something else, but Rex's head turned slightly toward the northern treeline.
