For the moment, Zevran is content to accept this man as another set of eyes, aware of every rackle of magic and his posture but not considering him an immediate threat. A potential one, certainly- but they've no reason to do one another harm. Not that one often needs such a reason but lashing out without warning does not seem to be something he ought to be concerned about. There's an almost familiar poise to this man. A gravitas. A notion that actions are done with great showmanship and purpose.

"I think I saw a bar of some sort to the left, down the way." It takes them from the shadowed alleys with which he is most comfortable but provides cover and crowds, more than enough distractions for him to slip away if need be.