"Don't touch anything," Presley orders, way too late considering two of them are bleeding now. The dangerous tarot cards are back on the table, but there's a weird—tingle—in his hand where he cut himself already. Presley holds his wrist, scowling as he surveys the other items on the table. It's actually not so much a tingle as it is... sort of like...

His sense of the many, many walls between him and Patrice are too strong for Presley to ask for the letter. "You alright, Tang?"