Oh. [He frowns, trying to read the meaning behind the edge. So probably some guys who roughed him up in there, he's betting? The idea makes his stomach drop, because it only reminds him of the little boy who had wailed into his chest, or the exhausted woman who weakly thanked him when he carried her out of there. And so many familiar faces, collared, anxious, eager for aid...

Peter realizes he's lapsed into a silence, his phone a tool to fidget with in his hands. He's not sure how to even begin to ask further, but he at least says with a fond earnestness:]

I'm glad you're safe.

[A pause.]

I'll be keeping an eye on the streets — the last few days I've been on active duty weeding out any cultists who managed to sneak away. We can't afford to let them regroup anywhere, even if there's not a lot of them left.

[Thank god for Karen's face recognition software.]