Tim's voice echoes off the walls of his room, with space for one guy and maybe a desk and a closet and definitely not some asshole asleep on the ground, and Jay shuffles back. Takes a second to regain his composure.

The house is gone. Tim's house is gone. The wood-paneled kitchen counter and the musty carpet and the way it dissolved at the edges of his vision like the lens is smeared with Vaseline--burned down, in an attempt to murder Tim.

Alex wanted Tim to burn alive.

Screaming.

"Alex wasn't right!" He's rushing forward again, and he's not reaching for Tim's shoulders or the front of his shirt, but he's taller, and maybe that'll be enough to lend his words some weight. "He killed--we think he-- Tim, look. Alex...wasn't...this stuff, that thing changed him. You've seen the footage."

He's thinking of a burn-scarred body in a bathtub.

"So if I'm not...impartial anymore, then Alex definitely isn't."

Wasn't.

"And, I dunno, maybe I'm not inclined to think the guy who tried to burn you to death had everybody's best interests in mind."

The same man who buried a bullet in his side, but he's not thinking about that right now. He can't think about that right now.