“Who are you?” he asked, unable to meet her eyes. “Three years ago, I dropped off a scared little girl, but I don’t see her anymore. I don’t know who you are.” “I’m a little bit of you,” she admitted, drawing his familiar eyes back up. There were tears in them that stubbornly refused to fall. “And a little bit of her. But mostly, I’m still just that scared little girl.” “I think you could win this game, Isobel.” It wasn’t a forceful statement. It was an almost curious observation. “With or without my help.” “I will win this game,” she told him. “With or without your help.”
