The response drew a glance, but it was quick. It had to be. Because he was driving. Attentiveness behind the wheel was very important. The lower speeds of surface streets were outmatched by the abundance of objects, vehicles, people to keep track of. More dangerous overall than highways. He couldn't stare with remorseful longing.
Also his agonized expression would do her no favors. She didn't deserve that. Alexis was dealing with too much already. How terrible for him that the uncertainty of discovering herself supernatural wasn't the worst of it.
He was.
Tiffer had done this. He'd not been the one to file for divorce, to serve papers. But the family's cracks, exacerbated into a fractured pile of rubble, were his doing all the same. Now he didn't get to be sad about it. He served justice and this was what it looked like, to lose his daughter like he'd lost her mother and sister. Not because of some uncontrollable supernatural horror, but because he hadn't prioritized them over those supernatural horrors.
Reaping what he'd sown. Paying his debt. His pain didn't goddamn matter next to that he'd caused.
And the really damning part was that if he could go back, make different choices, spend more time at home... he wouldn't. For all that he'd seen, lost, felt, inflicted, his priorities hadn't changed. He was so unworthy of the mantle, father.
"Yeah," he answered much more quickly than the wealth of preceding melodramatic text would suggest. "Of course." And the temperature controls would be fiddled with accordingly.
Next therapy session would be fun.