Peter's face cracks into a half derisive, half apprehensive smile. "Piss off," he replies with a defensive little laugh. No such thing as psychics just like no such thing as magic or vampires. Peter must have given it away somehow; he just has to figure out how that happened.

He barely gives it a moment of thought before hiking himself up and crossing the counter the same way he did the first time. Booze aside, he wants to see where this is going. "Who are you?" he asks. A beat later, it occurs to him to ask, "You're not from the agency, are you?" Because seriously, he's had more fucked up things said to him by the so-called adults in charge of his living situation.