[ There's no point to wringing his hands, so he doesn't. It's as simple as that. ( Nothing about this is simple. ) This is the closest they've been, the first conversation they've had in ages and it aches, each word that he pushes across the table falling flat, somehow inadequate.

How do you sum up a relationship that's spanned so many years and culminated in nothing but a marriage that you then have to help break up not just in theory but in practice?

So he eats. He reaches for a croissant and gets as far as cutting it in half, buttering and putting jam on one before he catches himself. Realizes. Remembers. It takes every ounce of effort to be nonchalant - to place the pastry down, to move it to the side and pick something else, answering as he moves. ] I've contacted relevant parties; we're going to have a busy few days, but I'll be there to help coordinate everything for you. I didn't want to rearrange your calendar without speaking, however, so I've left that alone.

[ Toasted bread, that's safe. Ignis butters that instead, layering a thin line of jelly over the top. ]

Safe. As I said, she's taken care of everything. The folder is yours to keep; it's a summarized version of what she presented me with last night.

[ Yes, he'd stayed up ridiculous hours to make it for Noctis. No, he'd never admit that. ]