"Can't say it has," Samuel said. His eyes flicked down to his new floor mate's strange burden. It was indeed an unusual assortment of goods, and none of them bore tags or packaging to indicate they had been recent purchases. Samuel supposed there might be other, perfectly reasonable explanations for the scene unfolding before him, but some nagging uncertainty refused to let him walk away. A slight furrow creased his brow; his key slowly withdrew from his door, and he turned to better face the man. "Sergeant Samuel Wolfe," he said, unsubtly emphasizing the title, and Philip blinked again in response to the shift in tone, a quickly double-shuttered flash of lids over a wide-eyed gaze that cast the illusion of an honest face.
Samuel took a step closer, his head canted curiously as he tried to get a closer look at his neighbor's hands. His keys chimed merrily together where they dangled from his fingers. "Interesting stuff you forgot to pack," he said, his tone cheerful enough for all its underlying suspicion. "But hey. You were probably in a hurry when you left, huh." He flashed a broad, bright grin. "How long you been here?"