Once inside, Enjolras slams up against a wall, listening to the explosions which continue to rage outside. He's not listening to them, exactly, it's more that concentrating on real flames and gunpowder (of which he at least understands the mechanics even if he'd would rather avoid them being directed at him particularly), than whatever had happened to this girl in the past five minutes.

"Fine. Thank you." His speech is clipped as he analyzes his limited observations. "You... " How often eloquence simply failed him in his place.

"Are you a witch?" He asks quietly, finally looking at her, studying really, from under tousled curls and long lashes. It's a ridiculous question and Enjolras is entirely unsure what he'd do if she said yes. Running isn't exactly an option.