"Sounds useful. Perhaps a little unpleasant--" a little bit like a small anxiety attack, each time, "but incredibly useful." Reyes' own paranoia is more calculated, less instinctive, but navy blue could be cousin to that teal power, in a way.

He's pocketed the knife by now, and resumed leaning on that makeshift walking stick, more to have something to do with his hands than anything else. When the other man's gaze slides away, the smuggler considers. He's probably got better things to be doing than babysitting this hapless spaceman. "Thank you again for the supplies. I'm Reyes, by the way."