"Not consciously." He admits, ruining a chance to appear super-sneaky with the gift-giving thing. He's still too stunned to be that opportunistic. "The Bar must have found my residence files." Or read his mind, which is a decidedly more unnerving option that he prefers not to think about.

"There should be a hallway to the right - bathroom, bedroom, study, bizarrely drafty linen closet." He goes left, and finds the kitchen he knew would be there, the keys rattling into the bowl that could be the twin of the one he kept on the counter once, years ago.