It's kind of like looking in a younger, cuter mirror, isn't it, Devin?

Aly eyes the arm held out to her, and then accepts it in the spirit in which it was offered - that is, as assistance in escorting. When he says that he won't go anywhere, that he'll stay, she looks at him. For a second she looks her age, all of seventeen, a frightened girl who never wanted to be drawn into this world but never had a choice. She's tired and frightened enough that the usual steely edge to her gaze is gone. There's no bravado, there's no fire, there's no Flame.

There's just Aly.

"Okay," she says quietly.