For the longest of moments, the Spectre agent says and does nothing more than observe. Nihlus' expression and posture would've been unreadable even without the divide of species between them, everything carefully tailored to the image of cool, military poise.

And then he closes his eyes and draws in a slow breath and the facade slides off of him like water, his shoulders drooping as if weighed down.

He's been a real fucking hypocrite.

"Once you're out of the hold," he says, just loud enough to be heard through the glass and nothing more. "I'm going to help you find Elle an apology present."

That was also the closest Nihlus can get to an apology for Rinzler himself right now. He's not sure yet if a real one is deserved. There's too much he doesn't know and the program had still killed two people.

The fact of the matter, however, was that he's let others off for worse. It's funny how being a Spectre worked sometimes.

"You're still probably getting a real fledgling's sentence though." With the ease of someone who was far too used to visiting people in jail, the turian settles down cross-legged in front of the cell and flicks on his omni-tool. "So I'm here to mete out some suitable, additional disciplinary measures."

The document hovering over his arm is a picture of an Asari with a gun in her hand leaning down to tenderly smooch the barely clad turian lady who was clinging adoringly to her chest. The background is vaguely on fire. The turian lady was kneeling because she was clearly about two and half feet taller.

Above the image, the title reads 'The Silver Flower' by Matriarch Ayatera.