Kincaid's ice-cold, grey-blue eyes became insensitive, unfeeling stones when they looked into the dark brown eyes of his friend. "You should be careful, Dexter, you're on ice that won't hold your weight." Jonah slowly lowered his gaze. The cigarette was nearing its end as he deliberately took his thumb and forefinger and clamped them shut over the red-hot, fiery end, snuffing the life out of the smoke shared between the two men. It was a symbolic gesture of dramatic finality. Dexter Miller knew his visit had come to an immediate and abrupt end. His stomach nervously rolled as he remembered the smell of burning flesh. He accepted the moment and sadly offered as he started to leave, "Tell Aleya I said thanks for the breakfast and tell her good-bye for me." "Will do." Kincaid flatly spoke. He offered nothing more.