Raylan was sitting in the only chair in his lab, in front of a table stacked with a few books and scraps. His bed was pushed into one corner, and the room was cramped, probably some kind of storage room or closet before Raylan claimed it. He waited for the little girl to run off, though Adelaide might get a good look at him in the interim -- his right hand was clearly screwed. Swollen and purple, it was radiating down his wrist, too. Once he was sure the child was out of earshot, he spoke.

"We've got a murdering god damn abomination terrorist in the Inquisition, and no one is fucking doing anything?"