The warmth could be explained away. Rational thought would supply a heating vent or the cumulative effect of the people that had crowded into the small space. The occult had not infringed on Pepper's environment; the unsettling ability to warp metal remained cleanly separate, its division from normality was scalpel-thin.
Her own hands were cool and Thomas's gesture was (while surprising) easy to read: Pepper extended one of her own without thought until her palm upturned to his. Smooth fingers, the palm soft. She cataloged the surprising map his own proved to be. Physicality: something beyond the province of a desk. Possibly boxing? Some method of staying in trim, he was remarkably so - the trail of thought was abruptly curtailed.
Blue eyes clouded with consternation. "What do you mean?"