"Your guess is as good as mine," It's been a while since Vance crawled his way up to Kirkwall, but he knows better than to flap his gums about Yseult being away on mission. "If it's a matter of intelligence, I expect the Commander'll have you."

A pause,

"That might still take a stretch." The lights were off in the Forces office when he passed. Flint's not in, either. Vance squints, takes in the fancy threads, the accent. Some vestigial formality asserts itself: "Can I ask the nature of your business?"

His own shirt is understated, but that kind of fabric doesn't come of a Warden's stipend.