Herbalists' Cache it was his last day on the force

The recognition in his face is too flickering, too uncertain for Alarian's comfort; what terrible fate had befallen the male, to leave him questioning his own recollection? He wonders if their last meeting has been forgotten — how convenient for him. It feels twisted to think about it that way, though. He swallows hard as he listens to Outlander's admission, ears pinning back slightly. Yet, his expression brightens by fractions to hear his own name; a small comfort, at least.
He rises slowly, uncertainty written into his own posture and expression. I'm sorry, He says, brows drawn in a sympathetic frown. What is he supposed to do, here? Unbidden, several images spring to the front of his mind — Outlander framed by the foliage of the Bracken Woods, the way the sunlight had dappled the ground, Delight's face emerging from between the trees. He hesitates. Do you — need help, or anything? God, he hates himself.