There were pictures of models on the wall, and Max pointed to one who had a haircut similar to what Max had before he drove into the woods. “I want you to make me look like that.”

The kid started to laugh, but stopped once he realized that Max was serious. A license pinned to the wall identified him as Neil Tandon, a barber with less than a year of experience. In the mirror, Max saw Neil glance at the older man, who had a big grin plastered on his face.

“I’ll pay you double,” Max said.

Neil looked at the picture again and nodded. “I can do it.”

Neil started with the beard, cutting most of it off with scissors before getting out the electric clippers. Neil tipped Max’s head left, then right as he clipped away. His fingers against the side of Max’s head felt oddly intrusive after all the years alone. Max kept his eyes closed as Neil worked. Soon the clipper blade moved across his skin. “If it’s okay with you,” Neil said, “I’m gonna leave a bit of stubble. Otherwise your pale chin and cheeks will stand out. They haven’t seen the sun in a while.”

Max didn’t really like that idea, having been a stickler for a clean-shaven face for most of his life, but said, “If you think it’s best.”

As the beard fell away, Max could feel the chill of air against his face, a sensation he hadn’t felt in years. When Neil finished with the electric clippers, he used a razor to shave the edges. When he was done with that, Neil stepped back and said, “Damn, I’m good.”

Max kept his eyes shut.

Neil then went to work on Max’s hair, again cutting off big clumps before wetting it down so he could trim it. He spent forty-five minutes clipping, combing, and working out knots before he again stepped back and said, “I should have taken a ‘before’ picture.”

“You’re done?”

“You tell me.”

Max opened his eyes and could hardly believe what he saw. He ran a hand through his hair—short and neat. Leaving the stubble was a good call, as it not only covered up the paleness of his skin but added a roguish twist to the new look. Here was a man who could walk into any establishment and not be thought a stalker. Max almost laughed at his image in the mirror. “You did well, Neil.”

The older man came over to inspect his protégé’s work. “I’ll be damned.”

Max paid what he had promised, shook Neil’s hand, and left to find a men’s clothing store. Maybe it was the new haircut, but Max was aching to get into a pair of business pants and a new white shirt.

In the hours he spent waiting for Niki in the parking lot of the Rook, Max began to have second thoughts about his haircut and new clothes. He felt unfaithful to his exile, as though he was slipping into a skin that he had shed three years back. It didn’t feel right to look like the old Max when he had worked so hard to leave the old Max behind.