( there is a part of him that did believe she lied. that she obfuscated, avoided, kept it from him. his gaze is open, eyes stinging—because she is right. that is what anyone would do: anyone who knows him and his love. but he realized, after it all... not his daughter. not hope. who has only ever sought him out even at his worst.

his own fear, his rage, his loss of everything he has ever known and that iron fist of power that has comforted him in the unknown, blinded him. even her, his little girl, the same and yet different, older...

emotion chokes him. he finds words in a stilted outpouring. ) You're my daughter. And the thought of you, here... ( at the whims of this city. grown and independent and taking care of herself. he has tried to be understanding, and he will continue to do so, to accept this, for her. but this is honest, too: it weighs on him. )

I know there are things I do not know, and plenty more I do not wish to know... ( his hand lifts to his head. those pictures he cannot burn from his mind's eye are only the start. )

I reacted. Poorly. Because I understand. If you had kept it from me.