He groans again, louder this time, as the silver tears at his skin and flesh, and as he gently touches the wound he cannot suppress a hiss.

Fucking cunt.

He shifts a little in his seat and the barrels that had been pointed at him in a general sort of way are suddenly trained on his head.

"Relax," he mutters. Not looking at Pam.

They won't find anything. But he can't keep them in the dark forever.

Or for long.