"That I will," he agrees in a rough growl. He's no kind of happy about this shit show, and he's going to take a perverse sort of pleasure in extracting the information he needs from his prisoners. "You'll hear as soon as there's anything to tell," he promises, and heads down the hall in the opposite direction. Towards the improvised holding cells that hadn't really required that much improvisation, in this virtual fortress of a house.

It's not more than a couple hours later that Damien's personal cell rings, Eliot's number flashing on the display.