Elia glanced at her brother, his strength obvious in the way he stood, in the broadness of his shoulders, his lean form. But it was also there in the curve of his mouth, the set of his jaw, the line of his brow. It was in the unapologetic black of his eyes. Their mother's eyes. Her own eyes. Elia looked back out to sea, the sun dancing on the waves. The tide was coming in.