The Sunspire your eyes were the color of some kind of grey

Rannoch's ears fell when Bronte and Coehlo both corrected him, and he ducked his head briefly. "My mistake," he breathed and turned towards the misidentified female. "I'm sorry about that, Coelho." He offered her a smile. Rannoch could only image how sensitive a subject that must have been for her. 

When Wraen answered Rannoch, his brows knit; the information she shared only furthered his confusion. And yet, despite his uncertainty, it seemed as though Rannoch was getting nowhere in finding out the complete story of why Wraen had reacted the way that she had.

"How was she a problem?" he pressed, his voice noticeably harder.  Rannoch's patience was starting to wear. "I just want to understand the situation," he added, after a moment.