Two straight years of fugitiving will do that to a man.

Wells snorts. "That so?" he says. "Fine, then. Me, I thought it was the voice of fucking experience talking. I know betrayal when I smell it, Preston, and its smell is all over what you've told me. Good luck with your vengeance, but you need to remember- just 'cos it's logical doesn't necessarily mean it's the fucking truth."

With that he gets up and heads for the back door. The black mood of earlier is settling on him hard right now.