Remy, somehow, didn't feel relieved that Sinister wasn't hanging around somewhere. He supposed it made handing in his resignation a lot easier. Or more complicated, depending on how he looked at it.
"You oughta work on your manners," he muttered, to both the women in his presence, not in the least intimidated by Deah, or really, by Clarice anymore, not after having spent a couple of days in her charming company. His flick-knife slid down to untie the ropes around her wrists and then slid the blade away into his pocket.
He shifted and took a step back, guarding the door in case Clarice tried to make a run for it, awtching Deah carefully as he did. "Well, y'got what you wanted, Hack, y'value your half of the agreement. 'S only good business."
It wasn't an easy decision to make, quitting the job that was paying his debts off, refusing to work anymore, but he couldn't live with himself if they made him kidnap more people. He'd always said, stealing objects was one thing, stealing people was a whole other ballgame he hadn't signed up for. But it was a decision he had to come to. He may have been a liar, a cheater and a thief but he wasn't a kidnapper, and he didn't want any part of Sinister's or Deah's experiments, didn't want anything that might happen to Clarice to be on his head. Maybe that was selfish, but he had never claimed to be otherwise; look out for number one, that was what he was best at, after all.
"An' you c'n pass a message on to Dr Essex for me while y're at it." he said, "I quit."
He glanced at Clarice, almost apologetically, mentally making a note to come back and get her if he could. He didn't want to leave her here, but it was better to do so and then come back than stay and risk helping her escape. In his pocket, his fingers curled around a playing card, charging it to increase the static in his brain, meaning that Deah couldn't read his thoughts, no matter how much she wanted to.