There is a pang of unease when Ford says only that it was not peaceful. But then, Ozpin has died so very many times, and almost none of those were peaceful. Very few deaths are, upon Remnant. Trench is the same.

He falls silent again as Ford dresses them from the scant neutral options in his closet, all blacks and greys and browns. This would be a reasonable impulse, were the body Ford's own; it is terribly unkind practice, on Remnant, to forcibly overtake someone's color with one's own. But the body is not Ford's, and nor is the closet, or the house, and from Ozpin's mind comes a building impatience.

I suspect you will have today as a reprieve, at least. He shall not know to look for me in any search for you.

He really cannot be more pointed that Stanford is not, at present, living his own life. The unspoken question is what Ford intends to do in Ozpin's skin.