Leaving the door unlocked means Lorne doesn't have to get up for anyone who comes to visit, and he suspects no one would attempt to enter the magistrate's house with ill intent. He hears a knock and a familiar voice, shakes off the drowsiness. "Yes, come in," he calls back hoarsely. "Be down in a minute."

Slowly and with a lot of wincing, Lorne carefully rolls to his side, swings his legs to the floor, and stands. Every movement pulls something taut and painful on his back, but if he takes his time then he's not at risk of reopening any of his wounds. It's manageable. He grabs a loose shirt as he leaves his room, debating if it's worth putting on.

Not yet, evidently, since he arrives at the bottom of the stairs shirtless. Lorne's expression is a bit unfocused as he blinks at the Shepherd. "...Dain. I'm--" Surprised. Confused. "...Would you like something to drink?"

Maybe he should put the shirt on now.