"Right. Neither do I." He rubs at the bridge of his nose between pinched forefinger and thumb, staving off the incipient migraine that's threatening to drill into the delicate center of his brain. You'd think it'd be easier to bear when one gets used to it, but mostly you just get tired. You get tired of it being the default state of being. You get tired of it being your life.

His temples throb, distantly. He drops his hand across his knees. Looks at Jay directly - not staring at the lens that he so often substituted for his eyes, but at him.

"He could've just been lying to us."

He is a liar.