Wyatt shrugs his eyebrows, the skin above them crinkling slightly in a mix of approval of the toast, and uncertainty: where to go next, what to say, what to do. He touches the sides of their glasses together, and gives a soft, quiet "To Az," in return, then tips the rim to his lips for a sip. He'd down the entire thing if he could, if he didn't already have heartburn of a both poetic and literal kind.

"...do you ever wonder..." he says, slowly, beginning and ending on a stifled sigh. "--if you're next?"