[She doesn’t press it. He wonders if that’s better or worse — better, allowing him to remain in this disguise at his own discretion, not bending his will to her request; worse, it means she’s too kind. She lets her brother go on feeling sorry, because that is his version of penitence. Or perhaps she’s being gentle with him given the circumstances, their new and unusual surroundings, and his own unease clawing under his skin to be so out of his element. So out of control.

Sunday’s eyes are drawn by the tug, finding his sister’s fingers curled there at the cuff of his suit. A sigh compresses his chest. Her hand is so small, he could cover it completely if he just —]

No. They aren’t. That doesn’t mean we shouldn’t be careful, but it’ll be good to have an ally in Stelle. If she is here, the rest of the Crew can’t be far.

[The interaction with Aventurine had proven… what, exactly? That man’s desires are as alien to him as another planet, and one game on the casino floor was not going to reveal much, except for the most immediate lack of threat.]

I’m more concerned for you. Are you well? Has anyone… bothered you?

[She must know what he means, even though the idea itself threatens to send his mind into a spiral of dark worry, and perhaps lends to why he now avoids her gaze. The sight of her in that outfit, her own disguise, along with the knowledge of this place — what is he supposed to do? How can he protect her?]