"Pamela," Lara repeated, her voice soft but steady, giving the name a weight it had perhaps never been given before. She let the syllables carry warmth, shelter, and a promise unspoken. "You're safe now."
The little girl nodded, but her grip betrayed her fear—tiny fingers clinging tighter to Lara's as though afraid she might dissolve into smoke and vanish. Lara parted her lips to speak again, yet no words came. None were needed. The fragile hand in hers said enough, grounding her in a way the soldiers' cheers and chants of victory could not.
Pamela's stillness cut deeper than any cry. It pierced Lara's heart. She looked toward her father, her brothers, then at Alaric. She was grateful beyond words to have them near—but this one child, who had lost everything, now tied Lara's strength to a new vow.
"Can I call you… Sister?" Pamela asked at last, her voice tremulous, so faint it might have been a prayer carried by the wind.
