Scaramouche knows the voice she's talking about. He's heard it in passing, chiming in whenever others come anywhere near him. 'Getting warmer! Getting colder!' Whoever they are, he'll bet they're the type who gets a kick out of watching people squirm.

He'd know.

Looking at the woman in front of him and her sunken eyes, he wonders if they're keeping those people awake at night, too.

"Turn it over, then; get someone else to handle it. Who says you've gotta make the delivery?"

Simple solution to an easy problem.