It's frustration and anger both, coming roaring back like a brushfire over the too-dry tinder of his patience and fatigue.

"Damn it!" He pushes himself away from the mirror and paces, short savage steps, back and forth across the floor of his cage. And it is a cage, it's always a cage, trapping him in bullshit set pieces and glinting mirror shards while someone he cares about about suffers on the other side of a window he can't break through. At least when it's chains and shackles there's something he can destroy --

He knots his fists and pushes out his claws, swings at the nearest metal table and slices through two of the legs, sending it crashing down onto the dusty concrete. Stands over it, head down like a run-down horse, just breathing.

Futile. Stupid.

Then he lifts his head and looks back over his shoulder at Ruth.

"Ruth. We're gonna get you out of here, darlin'. Or I'm gonna die tryin'. Can you lift your mirror off the wall?"