[The tension in her body language draws his attention at once, close as they are; he glances sidelong at her, immediately concerned, though he can't catch her eye. It's telling him that he hit the nail on the head, bringing to mind the set of conversations they'd shared, the tidbits of information she's told him or unintentionally revealed of herself. She's not human. She's used a plural pronoun instead of singular, indicating more than one person. Ophion is hers. Ophion is like a Messenger.

His breath catches, then, one more piece of the puzzle sliding into place- it's like he can see enough of the picture to recognize what it might be, even if the whole is incomplete.

Messengers are the mouthpieces of gods.]

...Pyra... if you don't want me to ask, I won't. And you don't have to tell me anything you're not cool with sharing. [Gods know he's got secrets of his own, even with all he's shared with her.] Just know that whatever it is, it won't change anything. What's it matter where you come from or what you are? I like what I see now. [He squeezes her hand meaningfully.] Or... you can just say, "Mind your own business, Noctis."

[He'd made that promise to her a month ago, after Somnus vanished, to respect her walls when she puts them up and stands firm. The sentiment has not changed, nor has his opinion of her even with what he learned since then. What else could?]