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Thus reprimanded, Verx's smile withered away, not even a grimace taking its place. You're right, he said solemnly. It's not. He heard out Drago's reckoning of events, mouth twisting almost painfully in an effort to stifle the words that desperately wanted to come out. His son wasn't right, he wasn't wrong, it was complicated --

We don't talk because we don't get along, he explained, once the boy had quit speaking. We see the world differently. But that doesn't mean that she doesn't love you -- that I don't love you. Things are just. . .strange.

Weak. Lame-ass response. It didn't even come close to a satisfactory explanation. But it was all he had.

And he could sit here and shit-talk Aure along with Dragomir, but what good would it do? It would be childish of Vercingetorix to stoop to that level. Now more than ever, he needed to be a good example. He needed to be present. He needed to be the peacemaker, however boring and shitty that job sounded to him.