"Rashid?" echoes only slightly from the mangle of the van. Louis' tone is somewhere between amused and pleased and faintly irritated. Talamasca in his home, Louis has yet to truly measure that transgression among all the rest that he's been accounting for recently.

Now, however, is not the time.

Louis kicks his way from the interior, emerging with a tangled clanking of titanium chain. Bloody, ash-streaked, tired. Louis is all of these things, but he is upright. Briskly hooks the loop of the chain on some remaining, jagged bit of the van to use as leverage to break the loops of chain from his body.

Amid the creaking and cracking of chain link and metal, Louis questions, "Is that the car we'll be leaving in?"

Theirs now, perhaps?