No, the worn-out, injured, and sickly creature that sat, practically out of breath, at her side had gained something along the way. Either in that dungeon, or perhaps years before when he found himself the only caretaker of a girl who couldn’t even be around a campfire. Somewhere, Dakota took on an attribute that had nothing to do with his illness or Gage or magic. Some part of him held out hope, maintained optimism in spite of an endless supply of evidence to support the opposite. He had no reason to think anyone was coming to save him, and yet—faith won out.
Or maybe it was a need to exist. Dakota didn’t believe in much, especially not after finding out that he wasn’t really meeting with his dead lover. His fantasies of a pleasant afterlife were squashed. Everything he had, however, could be found in the real world. His job. His purpose. His whole life.
His daughter.
“How’d you do it?” she asked once they were clear of the city. “How’d you make it through?”