Jack tilts his head, but nods, as if agreeing up to a point. "A different kind of power," murmured. It's a difficult thing to acknowledge, that Balthier could shed the binds that Jack has come to know like a second skin, and without cost, without sacrificing the right to shape the world around him. But it is different. The power Jack amasses so desperately is constant and steady as he can make it. It doesn't matter that he can't turn it off because he wouldn't, because he doesn't know what he'd be without it.

(Happier, maybe.)

The touch, however, that gives him pause – the words that follow, more so, but his smile flinches and twists like it can't settle on an expression. His teeth digging into his lip, shaking his head, "You'll doom them all, treating me like that." Like what, Jack, nicely?

Rather than specify, he downs what's left in his glass and pushes off from the counter, his dinner left half finished. Not going anywhere in particular, just– look, he can't just sit here and feel.