"I've had worse," Dylan promises her, gently. Whether or not that's actually true, he explains it away with a, "I've got a buddy who works for the FBI, in Vegas, and he's pulled me in to consult on some shit, before."

So, he's at least seen some terrible things, if not anything on this level. And again, even if he hadn't, he wouldn't be letting her deal with this on her own.

Either way, that said, he makes quick work of his dinner, in a hurry to get going now, then reaches for his wallet. He lays out a generous amount of cash -- more than the bill, more than a decent tip on top of it, even -- and then shifts in his seat, like he's debating getting up. He hesitates, though, if only because he doesn't want to rush her, if she's not ready.

"You good?" he asks, that in mind.