Arthur's eyes slid sideways from the empty road he'd been watching and then settled on Raven. The youth tamed the assessing dark gaze into something more like observation, filing down sharp edges. He lifted one elbow and tucked the gun away into what must have been a shoulder holster under his fine (but dirty) suitcoat.
He stepped back, almost polite, as the door opened. "Thanks." As he passed inside, Arthur brought with him the scent of the City, cold shifting pavement and blood, and left behind a faint trail of some expensive cologne that hinted of sandalwood. It joined the general miasma of coffee as he did. "It's a long walk home," he told her, by way of explanation. "Amazed to find something still open."