Alex looked at her. At the careful control in every line of her face, the way her hands were still at her sides—not clenched, not raised, simply still in the way of someone who had trained themselves out of visible emotion.
She wasn't wrong.
That was the terrible part. She wasn't wrong about the facts.
"You're right," Alex said.
Raqasha blinked—barely, a flicker—as though she'd prepared for every response except agreement.
"I was there," Alex continued. "And you lost something precious. I can't undo that. I can't bring back the temple or the relics. I know what I took from you, and I know that saying I'm sorry doesn't make it whole." He held her gaze. "It doesn't mean I'm not saying it. But I understand if it doesn't matter to you."
Silence.
Kaelen was watching his daughter.
Raqasha was watching Alex.
Leo, at Alex's side, had gone very still—the particular stillness of someone containing something large.
