Summary:

He thinks it cannot be healthy to be pacing the streets of Boston, an empty, hollow ache ricocheting up his spine. It does not make sense that he feels as though he is a bird caught in the mouth of a dog, the world appearing through tightly clenched, slobbering teeth. He is no fragile-boned creature, no docile lamb for any slaughter; he is the wolf on the prowl, the shadow that hunts from above. He is fear that haunts the world; he does not have it.

OR: Ilya wants: home, Shane, freedom—it does not matter. It is all selfish in the end. He is sure he does not deserve it.