“Am I still your prisoner?” “Oh, Rosalina, you’re reading my mind now,” he murmurs. “On the contrary. You were never my prisoner, and I was always yours.” My words are a breath: “What do you mean?” The music rises and I spin under Kel’s arm. He pulls me close, then dips me low. “You are the cove in which our storm-struck ships moor. The beacon of light in the darkest night leading us home. A candle whose flame flickers against the coldest wind. You’ve given them hope.”
