Before panic can set in over the fatigue and the gloom, there's Lazar, and with his presence follows a sort of trepidation instead. Something happened, perhaps-- the little hairs on the back of Barrow's neck stand on end, caution cutting through as he looks at his friend. He can remember the smell of Lazar up close, and doesn't want to interrogate why.

"I'd," he mumbles, dragging his mind back to the topic at hand and his gaze back to Strange, "like to be alone. Please." This seems a poor combination of people to have emotions around, if he must have them.