[He waits for her to light her smoke, until that tip of the cigarette burns amber, before he dismisses the flame outright with barely half of the effort it took to call it forth.

"At this point." He wonders if he could pick apart those three words, but he tends to the question instead.]

No. [Since it is obvious.] What sort of flame was that? Put out by a passing breeze if one blew past. [Pathetic, really.] You don't feel it? Like we've been... dulled down.

[Nerfed, as the kids might say.]