"You grew colder," Esmond said to Selara.
His voice carried that same old rasp, the kind that scraped lightly over every word, as if even speech had to pass through worn metal before leaving him. The face was different, the body was different, but the tone had survived the years intact. That alone was enough to make Selara's fingers tense beneath her sleeves.
"I suppose resentment does that," Esmond continued, almost fondly. "Though time can teach forgiveness, if one allows it."
Selara stared at him with open disbelief.
"Do you listen to yourself when you speak, Esmond?" she asked. "You did something no decent mind would have done, and from what I've seen today, you are repeating the same filth with better tools. How could you do that to her?"
Esmond's attention drifted toward the homunculus, as if Selara had complimented an old piece of work and he was indulging the praise.
