Then, one of the sailors turned toward shore.
My breath caught in my throat. He moved with a confidence that felt familiar, though there was a slight limp in his step. His hair was longer now, bleached by the sun, and a short beard framed his face. I told myself it couldn’t be. It was impossible.
And yet—
The moment his gaze swept the beach, he stopped. His eyes locked onto mine like a magnet finding true north. My heart was pounding so hard I could barely breathe.
He stepped onto the sand, water dripping from his boots. And then I heard it—my name, spoken in a voice that was rougher, deeper, but unmistakable.
“Clara?”
