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“Hate is like your default emotion towards everybody you know,” he tells Kayn.
He knows it as surely as the weakness in his own bones that he will discard in the name of his strength, as surely as he has known the cane that negates it. His son is like him.
Kayn may say it’s dislike, but Lang knows better. He understands his son down to the core. Lang owns him, created him from his own dick. There is nothing of Kayn so intimate that it is not also his.
He tunes Kayn out until he hears some bullshit: “boundaries.”