He wishes a hug would make a difference. He wishes the things he knows best how to do would reach that hollow place he’s become too familiar with himself, but he also is speechless with the horror of what she’s saying. It’s not pity, not at all. Shock, yes, and fury definitely.

There’s no platitude or expletive he can think of that touches what he wants to convey.

So he keeps his voice soft and teasing instead, with an undercurrent of gentleness. “I mean, do you really think the people that took you are this creative? Please.”