Theon's not sure he could dream a better fucking thing than hearing the low, intense rumble of that warning, unless it somehow included his sister with a whole contingent of pikemen. He thinks he might be a little hysterical, but there's really only the one time he's been successfully rescued from anything, and he was too busy bleeding out on Neil to appreciate it.

His assailant freezes, but he doesn't move, a poorly concealed look of calculation crossing his features. Probably deciding whether to just press in the with blade and take the chance, Theon thinks, his pulse jumping against the cold metal.

"You get your own sacrifice," the man finally says. "This one's mine. No need to steal, they're all over the fucking place."

Theon holds still, fixing his eyes on Daryl, and trusts.