For half a second, Jess thought Kamala meant now now, but thank god she's not talking about that. Not that she has a satisfactory answer for either. A sigh is pushed through her nose, the knuckles on one hand folded into the other and releasing several soft cracks. Her stare is loosely hooked on the coffee table.

What suggestions she musters, she keeps to herself. The list can distilled to its essence, the machinations of a powerful man's frail ego, and then she can practically see Kilgrave in the corner offering cheers. She won't be the conduit through which he lives again. To that end, maybe she should take some coffee to go.