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Maximus is not a sentimental man, or so he would say. He sleeps long hours and wakes short days, clouding himself in secrets and technology and decoded lies. He breaks hearts and has his broken, and covers himself in his work.
He dealt with it, he says. He drowned it in alcohol, then talked it out, and now works beneath the earth to keep everyone safe. It's not grief, it's not pain, it's simply his task to fulfill.
At night, though, at night... When it's late and it's dark and he can hear nothing but the night-birds in the trees...
Every night Maxo takes a candle, and places it on the windowsill. The candle will be blue, or red, or orange, or green, scented with flowers he strips from the earth.
He lights the candle, a little light for his son.
"I'm sorry," he whispers, as though a candle can forgive him, can ease what lurks in his soul. "I'm so sorry."
He looks from the candle to the grave, and quietly he sings a lullaby for the dead.