Fear. Yes. Hugh can't argue that - that the Protogonos is an enormous can of tinned emotion, little of it positive. So many of them still grieve what they left behind on Earth - homes, sights. People. Lives. So many dealt with the worst of the LEERA infected, saw them tear themselves and people and anything they could find apart. More still are scarred from what YS did, the wounds still fresh and hot and painful the way the others have begun to scab over. Should this Hunter smell emotion, the whole of this place must be absolutely thick with it. Cloying. Anger and sorrow and fear and furtive, dark impulses held fast in these steel walls.

This Hunter - they sense emotion? Smell it? Alarming. What exactly is this thing Cassius holds so dear to him?

But enough of that. Hugh starts just a touch at Cassius' outstretched palm, the split seams. Hesitates only a moment before he steps in, hands hovering at his sides half-lifted. As if he's not certain what it is exactly he needs to do with them.

"I - yes. Doesn't--" A beat. His voice isn't nearly so bold as usual. "Doesn't that hurt you?"