The lacing of their fingers is a stop along the way to drawing him in to her fully. Loxley is telling her something important, and she doesn't care to interrupt him, even in pursuit of some further closeness that now feels essential to her.

All of that, the wanting, is still radiating at the edges of her mind. It's there even when her attention is taken up by the demonstration of flame, which is a wholly other kind of display.

"A good trick," she says, sincerely. Her eyes stay on the candles for a moment, observing the color and the after effect of Loxley's work before she tells him, "I've never been able to do very much with fire."

This feels important too: drawing similarities between them. He is not alone in this. She lets that hang for a moment before continuing, "Richard didn't tell me very much of it. I asked, after the dream, but he wasn't ready to talk to me about it yet."

And she hadn't pressed. Obviously.

"Where did your magic come from?" is asked so, so gently, even if the question feels very strange to consider.