“Wax,” he said, shaking his head. “No. No. I can’t do this without you.” “Yes you can. Fight.” “Not that part,” Wayne said. “The rest of it. Livin’. We . . . we’ll get you out of this.” He rubbed his eyes with the heels of his palms, then looked at the stone on top of Wax, then down at the blood pooling beneath. Then he sat back, running his hands through his hair, eyes wide, as if in shock. Wax tried to urge him on, but his lips wouldn’t move. Not enough strength.
