The plan to follow Wrath into such a confined space wasn't entirely well thought out. He's never trapped as long as he can teleport, but he can barely move around in here, and he's forced to make short strides along the narrow path between shelves. The anguish that spills out threatens to trigger too many memories, and he needs to force it back down. There's not enough room for it to help clear his head and correct whatever got thrown off balance.

He counted on having longer to collect himself, and he runs a hand through his hair, pulling at the ends when his thoughts start to get more erratic. He stills as soon as he sees Wrath coming near. That wasn't his best insult, but he still fixes him with a glare when he scoffs at him.

Anything he might have snapped back with gets caught in his throat the moment he's called out. Addressing the curse directly pulls too much to the surface, and he works his jaw while he tries to set his defenses back up.

"It's under control," he barely mutters, sounding pained and obvious. Stupid. There's only so many valid reasons he'd be standing here. "You think I should trust the necromancers."