[Her willingness to believe in him and his plan, even one mucked up from the depths of uncertainty, desperately constructed in light of the knowledge that the most important person in his life is here of all places — it aches. That touch finds his hand, though his fingers are gloved to provide a fabric barrier against the contact of skin. He can still feel the warmth of her palm, safe and alive. It seems the pain of this situation sits somewhere beneath his ribs, visceral in how it sparks a pervasive burn inside of himself. There's no possible way he could deny that seeking grasp for comfort, so even in disguise, his hand curls to gather her fingers. The illusion of the Harmony is only an exterior one, so perhaps it will feel a little more real as a result. Their palms seem to fit together perfectly — made to be held by each other.]

It isn't, but we also haven't been assigned our rank yet. It's possible we'll be fortunate enough to acquire a position of high standing. Then we won't need to worry at all.

[They would have enough, at least, to support each other. To support her, so that she will not have to go out and comply with the demands of this gilt prison. He cares far less for himself.]

We can survive. [A promise. A squeeze of his hand to seal it like a letter.] As for the exit... don't worry about that yet. There's much of this place we don't understand, but if people can enter, then they can leave. There must be some mechanism for it — otherwise, a world like this would've been noticed a long time ago.

[Is it false hope, to believe that out there in the universe, some entity would know where they are? He's heard of worlds being hidden in the shadows of Aeons... but something like this couldn't escape all notice. And if members of both the Astral Express and IPC are here, there's hope.]

Robin. [Now he turns to face her more fully, though he seems to hesitate in the moment.] Will you promise me something?