She's sizing him up, taking his measure with efficiency, though against what standard he is compared, Kit doesn't know. He cuts his eyes from her face to her hands; no visible weapon, but that is small comfort. She could be a mage, or a particularly gifted hand-to-hand specialist.

"Sennara Corsica," he repeats, committing it and what he can see of her face in the dark to memory. He doesn't offer his name in return--not yet, anyway. He does spread his hands to either side, demonstrating that he, too, isn't on the verge of engaging her in combat. "...You've caught me at something of a disadvantage here," he begins again slowly, fixing his eyes back on hers. Was she Coterie? "I'm not looking to start trouble."