He laces their fingers together when Kit takes his hand, squeezes back. I'm with you. He would keep their hands entwined if Kit would allow it, but that can come later.

The lock and the new furniture (and Chuck's absence) are a pleasant surprise, though Vandelin's sharp assessment does not miss that hole in the wall, and he is not about to assume that the story behind it is a harmless all's-well-that-ends-well one. He files it away to ask about at a more opportune time.

"A drink?" Vandelin still hasn't quite gathered that this is an ordinary thing for people to offer guests. He's only in the past year been exposed to anything that isn't the sour, watered-down special-occasion wine bought by the cheap barrel and kept under lock and key by the templar in charge of the cellars. He's never quite understood why Kit always asks him if he wants one, and he's never wanted to look foolish by asking. "If you're having one, I guess I will."

Now that they're alone, he reaches out again, approaching to rest a hand on Kit's shoulder as if gauging how much comforting touch is welcome.