"The three lobed eye," Tim answered the unasked question, seemingly oblivious to the idea that he was here or there. But the question helped. The Ranger had gone through rigorous training for situations like this. Well, situations that were horrific beyond the imagination of civilized man. That training was under immense strain but it pressed him to compartmentalize his personal breakdown from the need to share vital intel.

He grabbed Raylan's arm. Steel blue eyes, pupils struggling to focus, fixed on hazel full stop.

"They were in Revolutionary clothing, Raylan. Down in the tunnel, a man was reading out of a leatherbound book, directing others who were painting the three lobed eye. When it was complete, they dragged in a prisoner and slit his throat, making sure the blood hit the eye."

He was gripping both of Raylan's arms with hands that were tight enough to leave bruises.

"They summoned it, Raylan. Possibly because of the war."