Even though there's still a slight impulse that lingers in Hermione, one that leaves her panicking slightly when the young man notices her, she bites it down. There isn't any heavily enforced code of secrecy in Darrow, nothing of the careful habits she's developed over the past decade. In some ways, the fact that she no longer falls under such restrictions is heartening — it's nice to see that the city can function even with some level of awareness of the paranormal — and in others, it only serves to increase the nervousness she feels. Why aren't people more worried?

Darrow is far from safe.

Still, there's an instant sort of camaraderie in speaking with someone whose abilities also don't run entirely standard, and Hermione glances down at the jar, her lips not quite yet softening into a smile. "It's one of my abilities," she shares, glancing up. "Creating persistent flames that are easy to carry around. They're good for warmth." She holds the jar up for the man to more closely examine; it's early enough that no one else seems to be around and paying overly close attention.