I chimed in, “He’s led a sheltered life.  Let’s make it clear just how unsheltered his existence is now.  Helen?  You lead.  Gordon, talk, I’ll signal you when I want a turn.  Jamie?  Jump in, facts from the folder.”

“And me?” Mary asked.

“He has a powerful dad.  Are you telling me you didn’t pick anything up at Mothmont, when it comes to parental expectations and the wrath of Dad?  Hit him where it hurts.”

...

Walter paled visibly, making the redness in his cheeks, chin, and the center of his forehead more pronounced.  Fear.  He was in the palm of our hands.

“Sorry,” the man said.

Gordon’s voice was calm, gentle, “It’s fine.  You can have everything you want.  We’ll let you patch yourself up, administer the medication.  We can even leave you something, if you want help sleeping, so you don’t have to lie awake wondering what’s going to happen.”

Wildbow, Twig, 2.03