It's bullshit, of course.

Ronan snorts a short, humorless laugh, his gaze still studiously fixed downward on the rope. He runs his hand along it and the hum sharpens and it starts coiling on its own, bending into a knot.

"Better not stay long," Ronan says, voice utterly calm, detached in a way that's the closest thing to a lie Ronan's gotten in years. "Don't want to worry your boyfriend."