Scott was in front of him, suddenly, his face haggard and wan. Crow’s feet lined with dried mud and hair that stuck up every which way. “Ethan?” He shook his head, slow jerks back and forth that built until his body was shaking, and he couldn’t hold Scott’s gaze any longer. “It’s over,” he grunted, staring down at Scott’s ruined dress shoes and his mud-splattered suit pants. “We’re over.”
