As a general rule, Conor didn't kill people for sport. But for all that he looked human, he wasn't. He never had been. He knew that a chunk of the Cirque killed to survive, and he had never judged them for it. You had to do what you had to do.
But that didn't mean he'd been locked away during the Hunt. Quite the opposite, in fact. He'd mostly been sticking to the orgies and the revelry, but every so often, he'd throw a chunk of ice to fell a target for someone, or freeze them to the spot. Conor was Fae, through and through, and they were capricious on the best of days.
The ever-present night still hadn't lifted, but if Conor was any judge, he'd say it was the morning. It felt like the morning, anyway. He needed to eat and walk around for a bit, he'd fallen asleep on the floor of someone's trailer.
So when he spotted the half-snake woman, he thought maybe he'd had to much to drink the night before. Then again, this place was home to all manner of things. Who said there couldn't be a snake lady living in their midst? He watched quietly as she broke the baby's neck, not even flinching at the sound. It seemed like a mercy, in a way. She wouldn't have to live without her mother, or with whatever fragmented memories she might have formed. So he said nothing, and made no move to stop it.