"You've just helped me come to the realization that the bioterrorist weapons the island brought to me just now are inert. Or defunct. Whatever," Faye shakes her head, briefly rolling her eyes; there isn't really a way to explain her reasons for trusting more, and perhaps she shouldn't try. Perhaps she's making a mistake. But she knows where she can get more weapons if she needs, and the only thing that separates wheat from chaff is the sentimental value of the Glock.

And Faye would rather not find herself as caught up over such details, she thinks to herself. The past doesn't matter. It doesn't matter at all.

"Consider it a loan. It's not my only gun, anyway."