It wasn't so much that he was angry - he wished it was. Anger he'd know what to do with. They could yell and have it out and be done with it. This... this was an ache. A deep down hurt he could do nothing about.

That he was finally really understanding.

Max wanted to die. And while Wyatt might be able to delay it, someday, eventually, whatever he said or did or promises Max made, it was going to happen.

He was going to lose him.

He leaned on the spear, listening silently, wanting to believe, but the pretty words couldn't fill the yawning hole in his chest.

"Tell me, Max, if by some miracle we both make it out of here. If we win an' we're finally done, can you walk away? Will that be enough for ya?"