"Wouldn't leave anything for us," Barrow grumbles, ladling a bit of grease over the nug as he turns it. If he's still stewing over what happened before, or if something new has darkened his demeanor, it's hard to say: impenetrable even at his most cheerful, now he's like stone.

He does, however, pick up the whiskey bottle he's been nursing and silently pass it to Lazar.