She was in control here, singularly and absolutely, and there was not a goddamned thing Handy could do about it. Her horn was always wrapped in a golden glow as she levitated what appeared to be a small paperback serial novella she was reading, or her tea. Handy wasn't fooled, however—he saw the magical sheen outside the window, indicating either a shield or warding. He wasn't going anywhere she didn't want him to. He had briefly considered their chances had he given Crimson the command to attack her magically, but his hopes were dashed when he spotted the colour had in fact drained from the little mage's face. It was an impressive feat considering her face was covered in fur of the deepest red.