He pauses in surprise before he gets anywhere near the vent, hearing a muffled greeting that can only come from the room on the other side.

"Yes, hello," he calls back quickly. "Gimme a sec." Still in his Naismith persona, the flat Betan accent is matched with his informal language. Miles doesn't waste any time lamenting his lack of height, just drags the cot over with a painful screech of metal on concrete until it's directly underneath the vent, then hops up. The grate is still a good foot above his head, but it's an improvement.

"Is this better? I take it you're a fellow detainee?"