Merrick's grip on the wall tightens. The way her voice sounds just then-- If this were just a few weeks earlier, he'd have wanted to turn and tug her into his arms, bury his fingers in her hair and sing any note to chase those sorrows away. Now, he just feels like the hollowness in his chest has spread to his arms and legs, and that the wind will cast him away if he releases his grip on the wall.

His silence drags on even after she's finished speaking, stretching until the point of snapping before he finally responds.

"I'm not angry with you."