Raylan woke with a sharp inhale, eyes snapping open to the unfortunate sight of stairs spirling above him. He wasn't the type of man to get nightmares but that's what the view felt like. Like he'd fallen down a tower at an electrical station and was looking into the depths of oncoming insanity. The sense of wetness followed the cold that was creeping up into his bones and Raylan gingerly sat up and rubbed a hand on the back of his head, honestly expecting his hand to come back bloody. It wasn't. Just wet. Looking around, Raylan took in the door, the disrepair and... Malcolm Bright?

"Malcolm," he said, testing his voice and the strength of it before he pushed up to his feet. "What the hell," he whispered, surprised at how far such a small sound carried before it was overtaken by wind howling down at them. He saw his hat nearby, upended on the floor and would pick it up, once he knew Malcolm wasn't dead.