As comfort went, Loki's advice was pretty shitty, but the dubious expression on Fiona's face was fleeting. Beneath the coldness of the statement was good sense, sense she'd probably have tried to apply without giving a name to it, if only because when shit hit the fan, people like Fiona didn't usually have much other choice.

"It's kind of an instinct," she hastily explained, and swallowed against the rapid pulse in her throat. "Not all of us can turn people into icicles with our pinkie."

Noting the clamp of her own hand against Loki's arm, she began to awkwardly loosen her grip as the siren stopped, only to immediately firm it again. The quality of the light began to change, the pale haze quickly giving way to inky darkness as the facades of the buildings around them began to crumble and peel away into ash.