"Yes. Yes." It's muttering, but it's also an answer. She's itching to take a look at their surroundings, try and reach through the mirror for some sense of Ellie's room. "I don't have a fireplace. Pardon."

And she can't she look at anything, or reach into Ellie's mind, or try to move anything around. The mirror's glass is cool under her hand, her face close.

"It's what they called me. Yes. Blindfold. Code name, sorry--" It doesn't matter. She doesn't know why she's saying it, now of all times. Like it might excuse every other deficiency, almost. I used to need a code name.