Darcy runs through the most colourful swear words in French they can summon, bites into his shoulder through his clothes without fangs just to hold him there, feel that he's tangible enough to hurt their teeth.

What now? He's not the cause of all of their grief, but he was a good portion of it. A weight's been lifted, but it's crushing them between the enormity of it and how far they've shoved it down. He may need a crowbar to remove them.