[He seems in fine spirits, typically does when she spots him in passing, and that makes this task all the more unpleasant. The opals can be of benefit of some, she supposes, Soldat is proof of that tenfold, but on average she considers raining fragments of someone's life for anyone to find is cruel. Even lacking greater context for what she's just seen, it was clearly personal. (To say nothing of the weaving between aurora onlookers and cheery spirits looking for him. Suboptimal.) Finally spotting him, there's nothing more complicated to do than duck the limbs of exceptionally tall spirits and completely hop over some exceptionally small ones in the beeline toward him.]

Hey! Camera down, please. Something of yours, uh--

[It's chilling in a sandwich bag, which she holds out daintily. Grey, blue cracks, beautiful were it not for the contents. To return is to admit having seen, and were the tables turned she would want the other person to be forthright. She settles on a free hand rubbing the back of her neck.]

Nothing's worth doing that. Just my two cents, won't breathe a word besides, but I - I'm sorry anything'd put somebody in that spot.