Jason doesn't understand, at that moment, why people waste time on words when the very sound of a voice is like a shotgun shell through his head. Leonidas says something, and Jason grits his teeth and then regrets it because the pressure in his molars only amplifies it in his temples.

He groans and turns his face sideways, eyes opened to slits and half-focused on the mug of tea and the bottle of painkillers, neck stiff.

"What are those?"

He doesn't know Leonidas well enough to trust he won't be poisoned; it's no secret that District Two, a former career District, was well-known for subterfuge and sabotage in their heyday. The District spat out the likes of Billy Bickle, after all, and even though Leonidas could probably just smack Jason upside the head if he wanted to ruin him at the moment, he still eyes the pills skeptically.