Hugh says nothing to their words. Nothing to the wet hiss of flesh on piping, nevermind how his shoulders jump and tense and stay tight long after Caelan catches back up. Hugh doesn't wait for them. Ignores the worried wriggle behind his ear as he gets further away, and rubs at his eyes once Caelan is a weight at his side again. His crooked frames go higher up on the bridge of his fingers, a steady thrum pulsing behind his eyes. A painful drumbeat.

"Well, it's floating around in space, so. Enjoy that."

It's always reaching for the thread that connects them, that tug at his hindbrain. A silvery thread that he doesn't try to cut - isn't sure he could cut, really. Even if he wanted to. If he tried. It's not far off even now, keeps pace with the Protogonos like an eager dog when it's able to stay in this universe. He thinks maybe he feels how curious it is about these new lifeforms that are so very much strange and other, sometimes.

(He ignores it.)

They're wading into the populated sections of the ship now. He's keenly aware of the stares, the panicked edge to the air when the first groups of lingering people see him leading this bloodtinged little thing (that is so very much not little when it wants to be) along into the ship's heart, dragging a wet, crumpled black bag behind it that makes such wet noises when it hits the ground.

"Remember - this is about getting to Cassius, not them."

They're not far out, now. An elevator ride and a little walk.

It's just getting there that'll be the problem, he thinks.