[feeling a little bit better, wanda sits back against the pillows, looking up at him. the press of his hand against his forehead, the way he's feeling that is so palpable to her—]

You're upset.

[not at her, necessarily, or entirely, but at the circumstances at large.]

Who else do you think I should tell? [it's a genuine question] Those I live with in Solvunn know about it. Most every local does, too. Michael. I'm not trying to handle this on my own.