“You what?” Galen’s already balling his fists.

Toraf holds up his palms in a show of peace. “Galen, he recognized her immediately.”

“Emma?” Galen breathes. This can’t be happening.

“No. The stalker.”

“Wait,” Rayna says. “Her? Her who?”

“Galen,” Toraf says. “It’s Nalia. Yudor swears on Triton’s memory it is. She’s not dead. He’s on his way back to stop the mating ceremony.”

Nalia. It all comes together as if the pieces of the puzzle were suddenly jarred into place.

Galen tears through the living room and to the beach, Toraf and Rayna close behind him.

*   *   *

Emma’s house illuminates the top of the sand dunes in front of it. That usually means Emma and her mother are both home, living separate lives in separate rooms.

Galen sprints to the back sliding-glass door and bangs on it. There’s no time for etiquette. He motions for Rayna and Toraf to stay back. He can tell Rayna would rather eat her own ear than obey, but Toraf restrains her.

Emma comes to the door, a brilliant smile on her face. “You in a hurry for some reason?” she says, excitement lighting up those huge violet eyes.

“He must have missed me,” Emma’s mom calls from the kitchen. She winks at Galen, completely oblivious to how her world is about to shift.

“Mom. Ew,” Emma says, handing Galen a towel and shutting the door.

“Thanks,” he tells her. “For the towel, I mean.”

“Something wrong?” From her expression, he must look as anxious as he feels.

He brushes her cheek with the back of his hand. “I love you. More than you know. No matter what happens.”

She turns to kiss his palm. “Uh-oh. No matter what happens? That’s kind of morbid, don’t you think?” she whispers. “But no matter how morbid, I love you, too. God, I missed you so much. And it’s only been twenty-four hours!”

He leans down, sweeps his lips across hers, cherishing the softness. Normally, he wouldn’t kiss her in front of her mother out of respect, but he considers this a special circumstance.

He’ll always remember this moment. The moment before everything changed. He gives her one last kiss, then turns toward the kitchen.

“Let me help you with that, Mrs. McIntosh.”

She smiles and shakes her head. “Oh, that’s okay, Galen. I’m almost done. Besides, you’re still dripping wet.”

Still, Galen approaches the sink. The fragmented clues line up with each step he takes, forming the complete picture.

He’s wasted all this time suspecting Emma’s dad. How could I be so stupid?

Her Syrena coloring, only with blue eyes. Blue eyes without contacts, blue eyes that faded from violet from her years on land. It’s not a legend. The painting in Tartessos was right. And those same years on land are responsible for her gray streaks of hair—a sign of aging faster.

The way she had an eerie habit of calling every time the stalker showed up. She probably sensed them all in the water and wanted to make sure Emma was safe. If Dr. Milligan was right, if Emma didn’t mature until recently, she may not have ever sensed her before. She may not even realize Emma’s gift.

Sensed. Grom swears he’d been sensing her again. Could he really sense her from that far away after all this time? Maybe all the myths are true. Maybe there is such a thing as the pull.

Still, pull or none, she’s been breaking the law—and his brother’s heart—by staying on land all this time. Not to mention the widening chasm she gouged between the two kingdoms when she left. As much as he loves Emma, Galen can’t ignore her mother’s actions.

And he can’t let Grom mate with the wrong person.

Mrs. McIntosh gives him a quizzical look but doesn’t say anything when he reaches her side. He plunges his hands into the dishwater. And senses her immediately. The stalker. The look in her eyes, the way her mouth hangs open, the way she glances down at the trident on his stomach, is all the confirmation he needs. “You’ve got a lot of explaining to do, Nalia.”