The girl didn’t take her eyes off the therapist as the firesinger reached out and put one glowing fingertip into the water.  It took a moment for the liquid to start steaming.

...

The girl lifted the steaming mug to her lips.  The smell of the heavily spiced mead flooded the room. The therapist didn’t comment, hadn’t commented.  She was technically legal, however young she might look.

Wildbow, Worm, E.1