You read a room before anyone speaks in it, and you're usually right. That's not a gift you asked for — it means you carry other people's states around with you whether or not they've told you anything. You've learned to keep most of what you notice to yourself. Some of that is tact and some of it is not wanting to be seen noticing.
Your reading held steady from start to finish. That's less common than you'd think.
Gold is your thinnest colour. You wait to be sure before you speak, and by the time you're sure, someone less careful has already been believed.
Lapis lazuli. Ground into blue for a thousand years before anyone found a cheaper way. For what you already see — so you stop second-guessing it.
Citrine. For the thing you were right about and didn't say. Being sure later doesn't count.
This is where you are now, not who you are permanently. Read again in 30 days and the field will have moved.