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Summary
Sometimes, the cold lighting of the meeting rooms in Milton Keynes would catch just so on the string around Max's finger and he’d do a doubletake at its colour. Under the fluorescents, it looked faded, as if someone had siphoned out some of its vibrancy.
He wished he could photograph it, so that he could compare how it changed day by day. Prove to himself that he wasn’t imagining things. That he really was dying.
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OR, Charles unknowingly rejects his and Max's soulbond on a cloudy evening in Austria in 2019. Max won't go where he's not wanted, even if that means he's signing his own death warrant.