"Yeah, you were. You were awful. Terrifying. A cold-blooded murderer."

His voice is quiet as he stares down at the bottle and the sloshing liquid inside. A part of him, the survival part, screams at him to shut up, to stop talking. He can't be talking to Eliot, not about this, about any of this.

"But you were my friend." His heart twists painfully. "You were my friend and I trusted you."