[The fumbling attempt at comfort both warms and stings; give it a few months, and Kit will look back on the effort with affection. For now, it's like a glancing blow, something he wants to retreat from lest he make himself more vulnerable. But he can't leave, not now, not when Yngvi needs him--

It's always easier to stay when he's needed. And this much, at least, he can give.]

You're not them. You hear me? [He shifts his weight, angles his head to try to catch Yngvi's eye, hoping the boy will just look at him, look at him and hear the words. He needs to hear them as much as Kit needed to hear them when he was just a dead-eyed duster kid learning to be more than he was in the Deep Roads, with the Legion's ink still settling into his skin.]

You're better than a million of them.