There's a surprising lack of smugness coming off of him as they make their way. Instead he has that slightly distant look about him that says he's thinking, that his mind is a million miles away. Still, he smirks and twirls the lockpick in his fingers with a flourish before unlatching the door, letting them into the dusty-but-dry underbelly of the tavern.

A few candles and lanterns remain, easily lit with a flourish of his fingertips. She's not the only one capable of a bit of magic, after all, and his knowing look over his shoulder says as much.