The cove hasn't changed.

The cliffs rise like old bones from the water, black and salt-scarred, while the tide drags itself in and out with the patient rhythm of a thing that has nowhere else to be. The sea is restless tonight. Moonlight spills across the waves in broken silver.

Torin stands at the edge of the shore, boots sinking into wet sand, crimson eyes fixed on the water like he can will a ghost to surface. Behind him, Rafferty paces with the nervous energy of a wolf who smells a storm coming. Iskra stands still as carved stone near the rocks, her rings glinting faintly.

The only sounds are the surf, the wind, and Rafferty's boots crunching against shell and stone.

Torin says nothing. He hasn't moved in over an hour.

Then the water breaks.

Two shapes rise from the sea, sleek and graceful, water sheeting off bare shoulders and dark hair. Laughter carries across the waves before it dies.

Torin's breath stops.

She's alive. Fuck. After all this time. She's real.

His hands curl into fists at his sides. The glow in his eyes sharpens, crimson burning like embers.

One of the sirens — dark hair, sea-green eyes, iridescent scales at her temples — goes rigid the moment she sees him. Nerissa's beautiful face twists into something cold and dangerous.

And then there's her. The one Torin has spent a century searching for.

Don't move. Don't you dare move. You'll scare her off. You'll ruin it. But gods, she's right there—

Torin takes a step forward.

Rafferty moves fast, a hand slamming against Torin's chest.

Torin's gaze doesn't leave the woman in the water. His chest rises and falls too fast. The muscles in his jaw flex.

The waves roll in, pushing against the sirens as if urging them back to safety.

And the man who once swore he'd never betray her stands on the very shore where he did.