"No," Kostos says, bitten off through a clenching jaw that unclenches again a moment later. The ebb of bristling against a tone he associates, at least, with being treated as a child; the flow of still in fact desperately wanting to impress Professor Volkarin.

He gives his head one twitchy, terse shake, pulling his attention out of the wisp's simple consciousness and instead watching the newly lit candles for a moment before looking Emmrich in the face.

That does answer the question of whether he's recognizable. Should he be pleased? Or maybe a little horrified. Maybe he needs to make a list of people who are not allowed to know Emmrich was ever his instructor.

"You don't?"

Recognize it.