Torval's hand dropped to his side, clenching into a fist. "Why would you ask such a thing?"
"Because I am." Calypso let her voice become small, vulnerable. "Sometimes I wake up feeling like I'm falling through endless darkness, and I can't remember how I got there. I can't remember anything before coming to live with you."
"That's... that's normal for children who experience trauma—"
"What trauma?" Calypso stepped closer, and this time Torval couldn't retreat without appearing rude. "What happened to me, Uncle? What happened to the little girl in my dreams?"
For a moment, she thought he might break. His eyes—so like the ones she'd borrowed from his daughter—filled with tears he refused to shed. His breath came in short, shallow gasps.
Then his training reasserted itself. The High Burner straightened, his face becoming a mask of noble composure. "You're overwrought. The wedding preparations, the responsibility... it's natural to feel uncertain."
