Eden goes when she's called, trotting up to Uriel's side quickly and her face falls from it's carefully schooled blank slate.

"Hey...," she cuts herself off; making sure no one is close by before she drags him into an untouched row of shelves. Philosophy. No one cared to burn these apparently. Pity.

Once shielded from prying eyes, Eden tugs her right glove off with her teeth and presses it against his forehead and sweeps her fingers along his cheek. To anyone watching - it'd be a tender gesture. But with Eden it's much more than just that. He feels cold, so she tries to warm him with heat. A subtle application of her gift from him. But her hand reddens visibly with the fire under her skin.

"You're not okay are you." It's not a question. Because she knows. And it's her job to be keeping care of her charge. "Shit."