Redhawk Caldera you must become an island.

Elwood could sense the change in Finley's voice, but he didn't turn to look at her. This was the way things tended to go -- she got worked up about something, made cryptic suggestions, then fell apart at the seams when things started to get real. He was getting tired of her never saying what she meant, or meaning what she said. This vexation didn't change the way he felt about her, but it was wearing him out. He was beginning to think that a lifetime with her would be like endlessly chasing his own tail.

He heaved a sigh, his shoulders rising and falling with great effort. "Don't you think so?" she had asked. No, no he didn't. But how many times did he have to convince her of that? "I don't know," he mumbled. He was tempted to provide her with another catty response -- two could play that game. But instead, the truth came pouring out.

"I don't want to. I love you. But if this is what you need to do..." His sentence trailed off. Their relationship had been tailored by Finley from the start -- no labels, no true commitment. And now he could see why: so that she could plan her exit strategy and make a clean break before anyone got hurt. The twist was that they had both been hurt.