"A good thing that happened. You wouldn't want it on your gleaming conscience to fell a poor man with a cane," he deadpans back to her when she mentions that she cleaned his floor already. There's a part of him that naturally gravitates towards teasing and ribbing, especially when she does something kind and caring towards him.

Even as she comes nearer to him to lean against her desk, he feels safe enough to not shift away or glare until she does. He trusts Inej to keep that physical distance between them rather than push him past his boundaries. His gaze instead scans her knives, meticulously cleaned and cared for in a process he suspects she knows by heart now. One she invented, to wipe away whatever blood coats them and her by proxy. Traditions she's created, to replace ones that got lost, rather than doing what Kaz has done and tossing out the concept of tradition altogether.

"Does it help?" His gaze shifts to meet hers, a neutral look on his face. "Your cleaning ritual."