"That wasn't your fault." And it wasn't, it really wasn't. Alex had led him along by the nose, strung him along for years and years, and at that point it probably hadn't even been Alex anymore. If anything, it was -

"It was mine." The ruthless edge reenters his voice and his hand goes to the back of Jay's neck, supporting him. "I spread it to him, I killed him, and that's on me." He breaks off to glare at the ceiling, eyes darting as if in silent demand for the nameless entity to emerge and explain its damn self. The Rift. It's always the Rift. It knows their heads intimately, it's proven that much, it knows where to stab like he needs the reminder and it knows what nerves to prod to reopen old wounds.

"So whatever's happening to you can just cut it out, okay?" he demands to the ceiling, a furious litany ground out between bared teeth.