Although Anton didn't really have a magic-sense--most sorcerers in his world didn't--he had a good sense of when to recognise power. It wasn't a matter of the magic, so much as demeanour, expression, and experience. After five centuries, one became adept at recognising the powerful.

This one didn't bother to hide. Anton observed his entrance from the desk; the swagger, the gleam in his eyes, the delighted little way he looked around. He wasn't a tall man, or even a physically imposing one--Anton was his superior in both those respects.

But a man who flaunted his power didn't seem as small as he was. Anton very much doubted that any kedan in the room could look at the two of them and, afterward, remember that the newcomer was much slighter in build at all. Not just acting powerful, but being it. Knowing it.

There weren't many in Keeliai who could do both with so much zest and such a lack of fear or restraint.

"Welcome to the Midnight Hotel," Anton said evenly when the man had grown close enough to easily hear him, showing no sign of his conclusions on his face. "How may we help you today?"