( The hand holding the sharp edge of his fan aloft drops, folding the bones of it closed as he raises one eyebrow at Lan Wangji through the hole between rooms. Wen Kexing stands in the middle of the one his side, belongings spread across a dirty mattress before him, the trinkets of each world spread before him. Here, the things he brought, there the knife stolen from the House of Manouk, beside it artifacts of Ephes willingly given, a box that sits quietly but is wedged shut by a chair he must have dragged across the room. He doesn't move to hide anything, merely looks at Lan Wangji and his pale, drawn face quietly for a long minute. )

Ah.

( A hum. )

You feel it too.

( The fan flicks back open, waving in front of his face. ) If the proprietor asks just say the hole has always been there. Better you not get charged for it, when accommodations are already so ugly. You won't find much better anywhere else anyway, this city likes it's dirt. ( Is this his first room rented or has he skipped around it like clever prey? Who knows. Then, surprisingly -. ) Are you all right?