It was actually not so surprising. The Entitled played the genetics game like no other, and anyone, other than Splices, sporting odd or unusual genetics were fair game, in the view of the aristocracy. The name wasn't familiar, but the type was. Caine had run afoul of a few before. Brokers, they liked to think of themselves. Selling commodities for the highest price. Vermin, in his opinion.

He leaned against the bulkhead and crossed his arms thoughtfully. "You're not a Splice," he observed. "So you must carry some sort of natural mutation if you were targeted." A bit of curiosity leaked through his stoic expression. "Is it a visible problem?" He'd rather know now sooner than later. She bore no outward signs of such, at least nothing overt. He wasn't invasive enough to demand she tell him exactly, but he did need to know if it was something he was going to have to deal with.

Seeing the hesitation flitting over her face, Caine added, somewhat reluctantly, "...you can trust me. I'm paid to get you to Espirion alive, and that's what I'll do." He respected that she didn't, but he had to make the offer. "I don't recognize the name, but I know the type. I don't think we were followed aboard, but there's no way to be absolutely sure. But if I'm going to protect you, I need to know as much as you'll tell me."