Stutely listened to Marian's description, feeling ill. Keypads on everything. Even if the other four did find them— fuck, the Sheriff really had planned this all out exhaustively.
And he hated that Tuck was right. The Sheriff wanted to 'reform' Marian; if she played along, really sold it, he might just let his guard down enough for them to seize the advantage. But, god, what would it cost her?
While Will tried to force himself to down the rest of his meal, Tuck had shuffled up close to the bars separating his cell from Scarlet's. A sudden horrified exclamation from that direction made Will jerk his head up.
Blood poisoning.
Shit. Oh, shit.
Stutely had seen men die of sepsis before, a slow, vicious death from the inside. Scarlet needed antibiotics, and soon.
"We..." Fuck, he hated what he was about to say. Hated that it might be necessary. "If he's still in a giving mood, we could chance asking." Marian could ask, he meant, but couldn't quite manage to say. "Could backfire. He knows how bad it is, he could use that. But..."
But the only alternatives were agonising death, or a miraculous rescue. And he wasn't sure how much hope they could pin on the rescue.