He shifts on the couch again, resting his hands against his thighs and scrubbing at his jeans with both palms. Damp, like everything else right now.

"It's not about the solve rate," he insists quietly. "It isn't. He said it in that memory. He doesn't want me to go back in. He wants to... to make sure I learn from this."

He glances down at his ankle. He's gotten used to it being bare.

And he has learned. He has, hasn't he? The choice to stay in New York, to give up the treasure, even to turn himself in before Keller made it unnecessary. He has learned. He wants a life. A real life. Though what Mozzie would think about him phrasing it that way, Neal doesn't want to know.

He braces his elbows on his knees and leans forward, rubbing his face again. "There has to be a reason. I have to... I must have done something."

An aggravated little noise. "I just wish I knew what."