He could tell immediately that whoever it was had magic, and sat a little straighter to have a look as they brought her in. Not one he recognized-- which would mean Midnight, typically, but she was young enough that she could be new to one of the smaller covens. To be in here, looking entirely unbothered about it, the former seemed more likely.

He'd been sitting impatiently at the edge of the cot, resigned to looking a rumpled and lightly bruised disaster, and made no move to change that as the door slid shut. Witches didn't tend to fare well in the more physical public scuffles, and he'd long given up being so petty as to neaten his appearance by magic.

"Yes, the dubious honor of attempting to enforce self-control among those who have none." As if he could radiate Daybreak, or broad disapproval, any more clearly. "And you?"