The anger didn't take her back. In fact, some of her own rose to meet it, a clash of temper, a battle cry of old wounds and boundaries crossed. Lexi's chin tilted up, sparks in her eyes, challenging.
But something else was there. Not from Lancelot - he hadn't been capable of the emotion, not when it came to Mordred, not even after everything. It was pity, was empathy, and it softened Lexi's face, it eased the tension that bracketed her mouth. "Yeah," she said softly, gaze scanning his face. "I think a lot of us have."