Centuries’ worth of memories came in a flood—her first steps on the deck of The Night Wraith, and her laughter ringing out over the waves. The fire in her eyes when she argued with him, proving to be so much like him, her father’s daughter, even when not forged by blood. Esmyra had always been too strong for her own good, too bold for the world to contain. And he loved his little siren all the more for it.
