But Goro is pressed against him, holding him close—holding him tight, with a hand like a claw, with the other fist knotted tight to match. He watched the tape with widening eyes, drawn tighter and thinner by his own rage until his own name, in his father's voice, could snap him. He recoils all at once as if to erase what's on the screen with the force of it.

He does not even begin to touch on the delicate subject of Futaba's mother. Instead, he lets his nails dig into the meat of Ren's arm, a reminder and a goad: I'm here. You're safe. I own you. I own you. Fuck.

There are no words; just a hiss of bile that escapes from his throat, as they sit in stunned silence. And Falcon, shit, poor Falcon. What even is there to be said about that? That scream is still ringing in Goro's ears.