But then he saw his brother trembling — actually trembling, thin and bearded and hunted, flinching from a blow he clearly believed he deserved — and Daniel understood something that took the violence out of him all at once.

Andrew had already been punished.

For six years, Andrew had been serving a sentence far harsher than anything Daniel could deliver: exile, false names, constant fear, the loss of everyone he loved, a life spent hiding in the ruins of the one he’d blown up.

Whatever Daniel might do to him, Andrew had already done worse to himself, every single day, for six years.

So Daniel did not hit his brother.