I found one of Marline's drawings today. A crude, beautiful little bird she had sketched with charcoal on the back of one of my old poetry drafts. For a moment, the smell of smoke and ruin faded, and all I could feel was the phantom weight of her small hand in mine. I have failed in my duty to protect her, but I will not fail in my love. My search continues. For you, my little bird. Always for you.