Nika looked down at Clint. He stood before her high seat, no less strong, but a great deal less certain than when they’d started their walk. She was sorry for that, but there were some parts of Keila’s dream she wanted no part of. Family had never worked well for her, except as something to escape.
But if anyone deserved an honest answer, Lieutenant Clint Barstowe was that man. So she looked up once again at her view of “all of Europe.” A desolate island, arid with only a few tiny settlements on the far side of its inhospitable interior. Crete lay as little more than a dark smudge on the horizon.
But it didn’t feel right to speak to him from up here either. Nika slid back to the ground, but unable to face him, she turned aside and spoke to the sea. She told him of Keila’s death, essentia
