Lyra doesn't say much off set. Ask the crew and they'll tell you the same thing: she's more observer than performer, the kind of quiet that makes a room pay closer attention rather than less.

Ask her about a chair, though, and the quiet disappears fast.

She restores old furniture in her spare time, the pieces other people leave at the curb or pass by at a flea market without a second look. Sanding a stripped-down frame back to something worth keeping is, by her own account, the only thing that fully turns her brain off. Mention the one she found on the side of the road and she will talk for twenty minutes without noticing the time pass.

It's the same attention that shows up the second a camera's on her. The stillness people notice in her eyes on set isn't performance. It's the same patience she gives a chair nobody else wanted, just aimed somewhere else.