[ It is humbling, this. It's a little like being trusted with something exceedingly delicate, that you wish to admire and hold but fear of its breaking compels you to stillness, maybe even refusing it. Refusal is not far from the tip of his tongue, really, but never had a chance.

He remembers sitting by Julius and putting his hand out, knowing the other man would take it. It is a trust he's known with Petrana already. ]

I was delayed in responding to your message, [ he says, finally, looking to Petrana ] as I was speaking with a Nevarran skilled in making problems disappear, who'd dreamed of living amongst Venatori, and who presently wouldn't look too kindly on traitors. And so. My mind is—

[ He swallows that sentence, leveling his focus down at the table surface. He has a hand resting there, which he flattens. He's adorned a finger in a silver ring set with a square of obsidian, completely thoughtless in his readying himself for the day. ]

I remember what it felt like to love you, [ he says, finally, looking to Julius. ] And I recall—whatever it became, that at a certain point it was my own. And I've loved you a while, [ is tipped to Petrana, trace humour. It would be an apology, if this were some other conversation, if he'd been able to help it. ]

Coming here, I was intending to apologise for causing you both harm. I wouldn't—whatever I feel, I don't wish to come between you.