A cautious soul, her mother had once whispered as she tucked her into her side. But with a burning flame of love saved for those who warrant it. But whatever flame she had sensed in Aya had been doused as soon as her own had been extinguished on the waves of the Anath Sea. And Aya had buried her fear, her pain, her guilt, and leaned instead into the only things that made sense. Control. Discipline. Distance. She had found her place in shadows and darkness, in cold alleyways and dilapidated bars, in the smooth handle of a dagger and sharp steel of a blade.
