Bridge watches, fascinated as he follows the path of the tiny tendril of energy through Zuko's body and out into his palm where it became the flame. "I can see it!" he reports.
"It's white," Bridge says, "and it looks... like a really bright spark of electricity, until it gets here," he taps his own palm. "And becomes the flame."
Bridge resists the urge to laugh, because he can tell that probably wouldn't go over well. "Maybe you'll get to pick your own classes next semester?" he offers.
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