He walks to the lip of the canyon and peers down. Imagines the fall—the momentary weightlessness, the pain. His body dashed on the rock floor. He asks himself if it would be worth it, scrapes the bottom of his intentions and comes up with: it has to be.

Wade steps onto the bridge, arms out for balance. He doesn't correct them—he doesn't have the breath to spare, and his mouth's gone dry besides. His tread is slow but even, his breathing gradually slipping into time with it.

His gaze doesn't dip into the canyon again.