The music swelled again, pulling dancers back into motion. Shadows twisted around the fire, joyous and wild. Yoa's father, Raokan, rose from the circle of elders and made his way toward them. His movements were deliberate but steady, his expression softened by the warmth of the night.
"Nova," he greeted, his deep voice blending with the hum of drums.
She stood, uncertain, but he gestured for her not to bow or step back. "I owe you words I should have spoken long ago," he said. "When you first came to us, I greeted you with suspicion. I saw a stranger near my son and forgot that not every stranger means harm."
