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“Hey, come on, give me a chance here. It’s not like you’re my dad or anything.”
Lloyd doesn't mean anything by it, but those words bypass Kratos’s withered defenses to pierce his heart like a sword—two swords, one after another. He’d started to convince himself it had forgotten how to beat sensation through the rest of his body, and yet every time he sees Lloyd grinning and laughing and fighting and living, the ache of missing courses through him in a steady rhythm.
He opens his hands, closes them. The words he wants to say die in his throat.