With as dim as the lamp is set, Vasquez’s cell sits just at the edge of the ring of light. From here, Faraday can’t get a good look at the man, but he doesn’t smell the telltale stench of blood, doesn’t spot anything particularly worrisome about Vasquez’s stance. He’s... well, not fine considering he’s locked up in a goddamn jail cell, but not in much need of patching up.

That’s something, he supposes, not much, but something. It does little for the rage writhing in his belly like some ugly, caged animal.

He catches sight of Vasquez’s nod, follows the other man’s gaze to the gun on the desk, resting in its holster. Apparently the guard had taken off his gun belt while he napped. Slowly, he takes hold of the gun, watching the dozing man for signs of waking, and once it’s fully in his grasp, he reels back, slamming the butt of the gun against the man’s temple.

The man only grunts, crumbling, but Faraday grabs hold of the man’s elbow with his free hand, easing him slowly to the ground to minimize the noise. He freezes, listening, waiting, before he searches the man’s unconscious form for a set of keys.

He finally snags the ring, tucked away inside the man's vest, and he lets out out a small, triumphant sound. Faraday hurries to the cell as quietly and as quickly as he dares.

"Just so long as we're both clear," he hisses, "comin' back here was your idea."