Jason unconsciously mirrors Anakin's exploring: they stand there, two tall men in the middle of a plaza with tesselated flooring, poking at their temples with their fingertips and making mutual faces.

The pain is sharp, like a nail driven through the skin and into bone and tissue beneath; Jason stops a few seconds before Anakin. At the question, however, he nods. "Yes, I've a pocketknife, one moment--"

--no, he does not have his pocketknife, he realizes as he pats at his clothes. This realization is disgruntling. "--never mind.

"--anyway, you can't go cutting it open right here, like this," he says crossly. (Note this bit of common sense might not have materialized had the knife actually been available.) "At the least we would need good light, and disinfectants, Skywalker."

In days to come, Jason may regret his use of the 'we.'