Consolation prize? He’d asked Neal well before any of this happened. But Neal is burning everything down now. The moonshine, the venom.

He tries not to look at stung as he feels, but his face always betrays him at that.

“I understand,” he says quietly. “I’m sorry.” He backs away. “Good-bye, Neal. If you decide you want to come home… you’re welcome there. But I won’t push you anymore.”

Not now that Neal hates him.