The old scars up and down Andrew's wrists were evidence of how far Andrew had to fall to hit this point. Neil finally let go of him and let his hand fall limp to his side. Andrew gave an exaggerated shrug and spun on his heel. Neil watched him disappear through the doorway. He was aware, a second or minute or hour later, of Wymack's heavy stare on him.

"Neil," Wymack said.

"I'm fine," Neil said.

Wymack said nothing immediately, then, "Be fine inside where it's warmer."

Neil took a step forward, or meant to. The next thing he knew he was running: not at the house, but away.

He could still smell the blood on his shirt, even through his coat. He didn't know if it was his imagination, but the scent was so thick and sharp he could almost taste the metal tang of it. Every slap of his shoes on the pavement sounded like gunshots. He blinked and saw France, saw Greece, saw that long layover in Lebanon and short trip through Dubai. He remembered the rumbling waves of the Pacific Ocean and his mother's fingers clawing at the air as she struggled for one last breath.

Guilt, grief, and pain were corrosive toxins in his veins, tearing him apart from the inside out. He let them, made them, because these memories were awful but they were things that made sense. That aching loss was all he knew and understood. If he lost sight of them all he had was the unfamiliar cruelty he'd witnessed tonight. He didn't know how to face this yet. He didn't know how to compartmentalize it into something he could tolerate. Maybe he'd figure it out tomorrow. Maybe he'd carry it with him until the Moriyamas killed him. Neil didn't know. He didn't want to know.

He ran until he couldn't breathe, but he never stopped hurting.

By the time he made it back the house was silent and dark. Neil didn't know how the others had divvied up the three bedrooms and he didn't want to see anyone else tonight. Luckily the living room was unoccupied. He eased the coffee table off to one side so he'd have enough room to stretch out and, having nothing to change into, only kicked his shoes off before curling up on the couch. He was half-sure his thoughts would keep him up all night, but exhaustion dragged him under before long.

The bang of a cabinet door warned him he wasn't alone. Neil startled awake and reached instinctively for his duffel bag. His wild grab came back empty, and his stomach bottomed out in the second it took his mind to wake up. He sat up on the couch and willed his heartbeat out of its frantic gallop. Neil scrubbed at his eyes, tired despite that adrenaline burst, and went to investigate the noise.