There's no one who ever knew Wrench the way that Numbers did. No one who even came close. Moses might've raised them up to be what he wanted from them, but it was Numbers who was there long before. The man knows him inside and out. He's never been able to lie or keep things from his partner, even despite his best efforts at times. Wrench stares into the other man's dark eyes, and knows that even if it doesn't make any sense, Numbers must believe him.

He knows, too, he can't lie. As much as he wants to say that it was his hand that found justice for what Malvo did, Numbers would see right through it. Instead of raising his hands, Wrench shakes his head. It makes his chest ache with regret and rage. Killing has always been a job, and he's learned over time to set emotions aside to get the job done. But that one was personal. He couldn't find the justice he desperately wanted for his partner.

I was too late. I tried to find your body. I tried...

That doesn't matter either; Wrench failed at that, too. He doesn't want to stand in front of Numbers and tell him all the things he did in the aftermath. The fruitless effort to find him and get him back, the moment he finally decided he had to run. The years he's spent since then, just subsisting.

Maybe I'm dead now, too? Maybe that's why we're here?