"Lovers?" Ozpin asks.

Ironwood nods.

"You can put it that way, yes. The owner does respect his clients' private life... and also values his own reputation. So no one will disturb us here or listen to our conversation. We can continue where we left off yesterday."

Ozpin intertwines his fingers thoughtfully. He doesn’t look amused or annoyed – in fact, he looks as if it's perfectly common for him to receive invitations to a romantic dinner from the most influential persons in Atlas. Maybe I did go too far, Ironwood thinks. But, strangely enough, this restaurant is one of the safest places in Atlas, and if Ozpin is so concerned about his secrets...

Ozpin raises his head and looks him straight in the eye.

"Very well," he says. "I must say, General, your resourcefulness is admirable."

He seems to be enjoying the food – thoughtfully, as if he is no rush: a stark contrast to what he had said yesterday. Maybe it’s the atmosphere: no electronic music or other people's voices at the adjacent tables, just a cozy booth separated from the rest of the world and soft flickering candlelight.

At first Ironwood watches him, but after some time gives up. It is impossible to read Ozpin. He is sitting opposite him – and at the same time, is somewhere very far away.

So when he starts speaking, it catches Ironwood off guard.

His voice is low but clear. He speaks of people every single one of whom possessed magic, of a woman whose grief and despair had changed her beyond recognition, of gods who gave a mortal an impossible task. He speaks for so long that the candle goes out, and when Ironwood mechanically reaches for it, his hand is intercepted.

"Answer my question first."

Ozpin’s grip is not tight – rather, he firmly, but carefully holds Ironwood’s hand in place, but the heat emanating from him feels even through the glove.

"So you want me to help you defeat this – Salem?" Ironwood chuckles, although every vein, every contact in his body literally sparks with tension.

"She cannot be defeated," Ozpin answers quietly. "Not by me, at least. But you can help me find the one who can achieve this."

So that's why the Headmaster of Beacon Academy needs the Headmaster of Atlas Academy. Ironwood remembers young Winter Schnee – he had thought more than once that he could use such an intelligent and dutiful assistant.

"How do I recognize them?" he asks.

"Oh, that is simple." For the first time, a smile is in Ozpin's voice. "You just need to look them in the eye."

He removes his hand, and almost instantly the light flashes back again. Perhaps all the talk about privacy was just an illusion, and in fact candles are being lit and extinguished by someone's will – for example, to hide an unwanted smile or to spur a timid lover. Perhaps there was some truth in Ozpin's tales. Ironwood looks at his own hand still lying on the table. Receptors are still registering the residual heat of the other man's touch. He wonders what may have happened had he reached for the fire with his good hand.

Perhaps the idea of choosing this place was not so bad.

Ozpin is waiting.