Curtis shakes his head. Front-sectioners, he finds himself thinking again, wearily. Always worried about who's out to steal the power they've managed to grab. Guess it's all one great big cycle of stealing and grabbing and taking, no matter where you are -- the only difference is that she's got more to spare than someone like him.

(He sees Wilford's smile, for a beat. The pancakes abruptly taste too cloying.)

When he recognizes his next thought -- good thing she can't hear my thoughts yet -- Curtis stills against her shoulder. He draws in a careful breath, exhales just as carefully.

"Guess that means I gotta take the Voice of Barsoom then, huh."