Cash made a hollow sound, somewhere between a laugh and a sigh, and exhaled it. Ford would be here for him. Theo, Angie — he had friends, he had people, and he desperately did not want to hurt them.

He also did not want to hurt the baby.

He wished he had talked more to Ari Fisk, after. He didn’t understand how he had talked the other man down. He felt aware of the envelope in his coat — the weight of it. It was thick, and Cash was starting to worry that it was not entirely coherent.

He closed his eyes shut tight. He shouldn't be standing here anymore, he should do — something. He should go home. He should get on a broomstick.

He stayed.

”I don’t like who I am,” Cash admitted quietly, aware that he was parroting Ari Fisk, aware he’d tried very hard to talk the other man out of thinking that way, but if Adrienne died and he was alone with the baby the truth was that he didn’t like who he was.