His jaw clenched a little tighter, those big blue eyes as dark as his tone. "Fuck, Zoe. Fuck you. Fuck." He still stared down at her wound, still able to see it in his head despite it's covered state.
He stood up wringing his hands through his hair and kicking down the little tower of boxes that he'd piled on the floor, stomping on some and scattering others with his shoe. "What did I say?" he kept repeating that as if he'd thrown his magic at the end of the question. He paced the floor a few times. "I said stay inside," he was running through the explanation like he was helping out a kid through a spelling contest. "I said not to go near Times Square. Why the fuck didn't you listen to me?" He looked at her with upward brows. Were there tears there too? He'd maimed his own toy. "I shot you. I was there. I was up on that roof that night." He kicked another pile of boxes. "FUCK."