He doesn't notice her, though the surprise in his expression when she sits in front of him is mild and short-lived, transforming itself into something carefully courteous; Atticus Vedici is (nearly always) a courteous man. The scar on his eyebrow is still healing, but the bruises around his throat from his unexpected altercation with Benedict and Ser Coupe have faded to an almost unnoticeable grey-ish yellow.

"Beleth Ashara, Head of Scouting within Kirkwall. A pleasure."

If something might be seen to quicken in his pale eyes, it could just as easily be a trick of the light; his expression grows only a touch more accommodating. "Likewise," he replies, his smile thin. He sets down his quill and laces his fingers together in front of himself. Naturally, his eyes mark her ears, the vallaslin on her face, but there's no revulsion or derision in his expression. "I am, as you can see, at your disposal, Messere Ashara." He spreads his shackled hands a bit. "How may I help you?"