[ This doesn't totally fit the conversational flow, spilling out of Carver like he'd needed to say it, pus from an infected wound seeping out. Harold lapses into silence, respecting that there's nothing he can say to make it better. That isn't even what Carver is looking for, he's sure.

It just needs to be out in the air, facing the disinfectant of sunlight. ]

Nathan died because I wouldn't listen to him, [ he finally says, plainly. No attempt to mitigate the blame. ] In a very real way, he died in my place. [ Because he was the face, because he always let Harold hide. He took on all the risk. ]

Even the chance that she survived is precious. Hold onto that.