[ Orpheus draws a sharp breath, his free hand balling into a tight fist on the table, fingernails digging into his palm. He's quick to fold the picture back up and pass it back over the table. ]

I'm sorry. [ he says, softly, and is quiet for a moment as he he stares at the table, thinking things over. ] ... That's someone important to you, isn't it? The photo they gave me - it also was someone I love dying, in what looked like a really bad winter storm.

[ Peregrine might be able to put together who, given the circumstances. And Orpheus feels a little bad about that, since it's not just his business. But she's been a friend to him, and he doesn't feel like keeping this much from her if talking about it could help. ]