Faraday maintains his poker face for a breath or two, watching Vasquez act wholly out of character. There’s a reason for it, Faraday knows. Something’s wrong. And rather than push Vasquez too much further on it, Faraday nods, forces his expression to smooth out.

“Go on, then,” he says evenly, with his usual lilt in place. He tips his head toward the store’s other exit. “I’ll meet you out there. I’ll be quick.”

And even as he’s saying it, he’s moving toward the clerk. His pace is calm, seemingly leisurely, but there’s a purpose to his step, a brevity of movement that speaks to some level of urgency. If Vasquez feels the need to beat a hasty retreat, then Faraday doesn’t plan on being too far behind. (He can only move so fast these days, after all.)