"I'm telling you about magic as I know it," Gansey says, slowly but without pretention or malice, "because you asked." That really is the sum of it to Gansey--Loki asked and he's answering. There's nothing in him that assumes he could school a god in his own domain, just academic data-sharing about a common interest.

"Maybe both of those things," he agrees easily, because Gansey is always looking for something and he suspects more strongly with each passing moment that Loki did indeed want to be found. That's not something he's going to say explicitly, though. "All those requirements make sense, but you didn't mention anything about acknowledgment. Who decides if someone makes the cut?"

"It's probably better that way. The lack of neat categories, I mean. Life has enough of that." There are at least a dozen boxes Gansey feels he has to shove himself into depending on location, company, and time of day, and it's stifling. 'Being magical' having the same kind of behavioral constraints is a terrible thought.

When Loki tries to hand the stone back, Gansey shakes his head, keeping his hands safely in his pockets. "Keep it. It's not mine, maybe you'll figure out who should have it." The stone didn't not work for Loki, the man hadn't put it to his eye. Maybe Loki can tell by just holding it that the stone isn't for him, but Gansey doesn't take back what he's given away.