For a moment, Dread's blunt mind was ready to dismiss Wilder's talk of redemption. It was a waste of time, of effort; and how could anyone tell if they were 'saved' or just faking it, in the end? But as he took aim at the far wall, he... stopped, and after a moment, looked distant. He stared off, as if looking past the stone.
He was-... thinking.
His daughter. Bone. She was likely Hive, likely infected. He sure wasn't about to kill her, and she wasn't even an enemy--was she?--and was he even right about all of that? But could she be... 'saved?' Would she even want to be? It was a guilt, a distant chip of misery that he tucked away in his heart and promptly tried to ignore, on most days.
Ember eyes flicked back to Wilder, studying her silently though his snout stayed pointed at the wall.
When he'd finished, he did not look back to Wilder.
@Wilder