The bewilderment upon the petite woman's features was nothing short of apparent as she gaped at him with parted sweetheart lips. Though Tetradore had hardly forgotten his own demise at Frost's design, his death felt like a lifetime ago. Those months in which he had allowed the world to believe he was gone had been nothing short of purposeful and yet, those years since his resurrection had passed with such rapidness, filled to the brim with such chaos, that he hadn't considered how impactful it might be for Samantha to lay her entrancing ultramarine gaze upon him as he stood with such inattentiveness in the warmth of The Bakery. There was a certain sort of detachment, however, that so personified the Western Alpha. That look of stoicism lingered upon his features as he simply regarded the woman before him. Any emotions he might have felt at the sight of her, particularly when he had resigned himself so long ago to having lost her, were so tightly concealed behind that facade of apathy. His shoulder lifted in a small shrug of dismissal, her apology hardly necessary. "It's fine." The man assured her, his velveteen baritone voice as curt as it ever was.

His intensely vibrant emerald irises fluttered over her figure as Samantha commented upon that evening upon the docks - recalling with such clarity the sight of his ebony figure engulfed within flames that had little to do with Frost's affinity for temperature. He was indecisive, however, to provide that answer she sought. The veracity of his rebirth was a secret guarded all too closely by the Were-King. His explanation was hardly effortless, much less satisfactory, he was sure, and yet, Tetradore was temporarily distracted from those conundrums of death by the realization that the far too large leather jacket around her petite frame was particularly familiar. In fact -- was that his? His attention fluttered from such a perplexity, however, at the sound of that singular syllable upon her lips, leaving the pair merely watching one another in an almost awkward fashion. It was an effort to dissipate that discomfort, however, that saw the Were-King inquire after that very metropolis that he had discovered she'd vanished into. Her stammered words caused his eyebrow to raise ever so slightly before his head bobbed in wordless affirmation. he had little reason now, after all, to lament over how fruitless his own search had been for her once he'd returned to retake all that was rightfully his.

Tetradore watched as she fidgeted beneath the weight of his steadfast emerald eyes, only to inform him that, not only had New York been 'fine', but that she had hardly lingered there long in the first place. Her traveling surely had contributed to his inability to track her down, though he supposed his efforts had hardly been as thorough as they could have. A part of the man had, perhaps, been inclined to simply let her go. His own life, after all, was often perilous and certainly not a place for any soul he cared greatly for. Tetradore's prismatic gaze followed Samantha's surveyal of the cafe and the numerous unoccupied tables and oversized chairs that lined the far corners of the room. Her invitation pulled his irises back towards her before his attention fluttered briefly towards the large menu and the familiar boy lingering behind the counter. "Uhh, yeah, let me...get a coffee though, okay?" He inquired, that need for caffeine certainly great if Tetradore was required to reflect in any great detail upon the last few years of his life. Though he knew well Samantha was aware, vaguely, of that often undisclosed side of his life, he held distinctly little interest in speaking of such dismal affairs. No, it would be far better to coax Samantha to prattle on of all she had seen and all the places she had been. Once upon a time, he'd excelled at coaxing that chatter from the woman - unless that too had diminished with time.