"Yeah," Sawyer says quietly. That sentiment is easy enough to echo. He's still not sure on a daily basis whether or not he deserves to be in Darrow. Something tells him that he isn't, that he's still ever waiting for the other shoe to drop, for all the wrongs he committed to come back and bite him in the ass later. But for now, things seem safe, and calm, and he's unwilling to let that all slip away out of some sense of fear or apprehension.

Some might call it growing soft. But maybe, Sawyer thinks, just maybe this is the new realism. Do what's possible with the time that one gets.

"I guess that makes two of us," he says, grinning as he tilts his bottle in Carla Jean's direction. "Cheers to that. Maybe next time, we can drink to Darrow without freezin' our asses off on the roof."