Connor Reese, as he currently thought of himself, considered the patrons at the table at the far end of the concourse. They looked quite engaged in their conversation, but, frequently, the man with the slightly forked beard would check over his shoulders for potential eavesdroppers.
No chance of casually overhearing them. They may have even set up a short-range privacy field. It would be prudent, and what I would do if I were them. The concourse, is, after all, a public place, and even moderate audio filters are sufficient to isolate their conversation from the rest of the din.