He regards her with a sharp, withering look and follows her into the elevator and leans back, head pressed against the dull, vaguely reflective material that is simultaneously too similar and not similar enough to that which composed the elevators in the disused, derelict ROMAC building.

That isn't an immediately useful thought. He dismisses it.

He looks at the ceiling in quiet vexation and says nothing, even as the doors slide noiselessly open and they enter the hall.