Isaac takes a slow step, boot loud against the floor. His guns holster easily just under his arms. The knife slips out of his boot soundlessly.

"Sorry," he says. Sorry it took so long. Sorry I couldn't be here. Sorry I couldn't fucking protect you from this shit. He looks around briefly before falling into a crouch and cutting Jack's wrists loose from the chair, feeling his weight already slumping forward, tired and abused. He catches him with one arm while tucking the knife away and breathes slowly. Deeply. The rage should subside, it should go away. Jack's here, Jack's the one who can pacify him, put the hand between the eyes of the beast and stroke it calm.

He adjusts, shuffles, removes his leather jacket and drapes it over Jack's slanting shoulders.

"We're getting out of here."