While the man he was pretending to be might not have noticed it, Zexion spotted the blur of motion coming down off of the rooftops. Either there was more at work here than first there seemed or his as-of-yet unknown contact had a habit of lurking on the roofs. Both perfectly possible, and both nothing immediately worth alarm.

(Oh, he could smell the rising darkness, deep and twisted and unsettling in ways that he would have had to have been darkness-blind to not feel and understand, but forewarned was forearmed. He wasn't about to trust this many any further than he could throw Lexaeus.)

Of course, he couldn't greet the man before he arrived without giving himself away, so he simply waited, his face not moving from its mask of impatience and boredom.