"Should I leave that to you? Or York? Azucar? The next person who suffers for my mistakes?"

He's risen up by now, the blanket falling away, rage running tense through his frame. "Should I have let Felix, and saved you all the trouble? Because even he wouldn't have turned on me as I did him! I--"

And that feels like something coming loose, severed from that tangle inside his head, and he sinks back a step, trying to regain his composure. But it's for naught. He's actively shaking now, breathing harder. No. No, not now, not in front of him.