Ah. So it's that sort of situation, Dankovsky thinks to himself. He's never been good at matters of the heart, always more focused on his objectives and his work than fulfilling relationships, yet he felt a deep, painful empathy for Fever.

"That does not sound pleasant." he says quietly, solemnly. "If I may," he clears his throat into his fist, smoothing out his cape and standing that much straighter:

"Amor gignit amorem. It may be a naive thing of me to say, but I believe you are not a woman that is difficult to love."

The word feels foreign to Dankovsky, and he can't help the embarrassed flushing of his face as a result of using it. Still, he means what he's saying. She can take his misguided advice or ignore it, and it'll be all the same to him!