A pen is flung at him, and he jerks backwards more out of surprise than anything else, a momentary flicker between the next shelf of anger than slams back into place. Shrill, loud words off near walls, like a sudden shattering of crockery.

He isn't wondering if anyone heard her. He is thinking, gone and dead, and wondering if he can wrench back into order that sensation of tangled insides, if the problem at hand being made taut between them could be cut through simply.

Ah, yes—

"Out," Marcus snaps. "Get out."