Oh. Now that's something that catches Peter's attention quickly, the way you pluck something out of midair with an effortless grace - a knife on the blade, feeling it biting in, that conviction parting something that seems so much larger than life and sinking its sharpness into it anyway.

He returns the squeeze with his own, smoothing a thumb along the outside of his hand, letting go in turn and nods. "A good start, though maybe before we're off, it's time to retire your shirt. There were spare clothes in the bed, unless you're particularly attached to the hole in your shirt." He eyes it briefly, perhaps a bit concerned, though doesn't see any sort of wound at its center or even along its side. "Were you hurt?"