"There is no need." Byerly - today's Byerly - notes, distantly, that his former self seems to grow in strength. Perhaps there is some resonance in emotion that carries him through the ages, but he seems to become clearer, firmer, more human as he picks up another object (a lantern, mercifully unlit; he realizes now that he might have burned the whole house down if that lantern had been lit). By-of-back-then hefts the lantern, and he hurls it to the ground with a grand crash - but his voice is level and cold.

"That," Byerly declares, "is all you'll have from me, milord. I will take this no longer. I will have none of this and none of you."

"Byerly," says Nadine, an edge of desperation coming into her voice. But he turns on her, too - and Byerly-of-now closes his eyes to remember it - spitting -

"I'll have none of this house ever again. None of it. You can all go burn for all I care."

And this - this brings Nadine to her feet. There's a crack in her voice as she says, again, "Byerly," but he doesn't take pity, doesn't falter. He walks away from her, even as she dissolves into tears, even as she sobs after him, "Don't"; he just keeps on, leaving her by herself in that house with that man. All alone. With no one to protect her.

The scene dissolves, then, turns to nothing. This is all he remembers, and it seems that the spirits haunting him are not the imaginative sort. The illusion turns to mist and nothingness, and then - then that leaves him to spot Lexie, across the room.

He freezes. There is, for a moment, a look of pure terror on his face.