Lefevre had been to the cafe many times, although his assignment the past week had prevented such luxury. He'd tried every dessert and delicacy that was served, coffees of all fragrances and flavors. None appealed to him more than a simple black with a buttered croissant.
It was comfortable here. The wood and cloth a stark contrast from the usual spartan metal alloy that characterized the stations of the Royal Police. It felt right and warm, like home. Certainly not a nostalgic man, it was his one concession to a past he'd left behind in favor of ambition. Lefevre paced over to the Directeur's table and took the usual seat at his right, nodding as he sat and waving over one of the serving girls for his standard spread. The Commissaire fished a small data pad out of his satchel and laid the bag at the end of the table opposite Gerald. Recently returned from Metz, the two hadn't yet had a chance to speak. Although Gerald was his superior, Lefevre had served a long time with the man, had even mentored him. It was in this capacity that he now served, a Commissaire of the Royal Police.
"Evening, Lucas," he began. "I trust you've managed to keep the new recruits in check?"