Somehow, he'd forgotten who she was. *What* she was. It had been easy to take her flippant chameleon-haired mask for truth.
Now, the air smelled like brimstone and the whole world felt a little off-balance. Willow's magic still vibrated in the air if you knew to feel it. Giles could swear he felt ancient power emanating from Anya's very skin.
Here and now, he could forget about Buffy's quiet despair and Willow's destructive rage, the children he had failed. There was only possibility. And a pull between them made of mystery and knowledge.
"Show me your true face," he whispered.