Page 103 of Storm and Sea

“Yeah. I —” He swallowed. “I don’t know what happened.”

“Here.”

With deliberate slowness, Nyel took both of Atreus’s hands in his. Human hands clasped with Mer. Nyel walked backward into the surf, taking Atreus with him, never breaking eye contact.

“I won’t think differently of you, Atreus. Not for a second.”

Atreus let himself be pulled into the surf. Marvassa washed over him, and he was Mer once more. Nyel didn’t stop walking backward until the water covered their heads, and they floated above the sand. The entire time, he never looked away.

“Your eyes are the same,” Nyel said.

Warmth spread through Atreus’s chest. He examined himself, noting the different tones of blue and purple on his body, with lighter shades of mauve flecking his fins.

“Betcha I can beat you to the island,” Nyel teased.

“Wh-what? I don’t⁠—”

“Ready, set GO!” Nyel yelled before Atreus finished and was off like a sailfish on the hunt.

“That’s cheating!” Atreus called, thrusting his tail and matching Nyel’s speed. By the time they reached the beach, Atreus was leagues ahead. He made a show of waiting as Nyel trudged up the sand in defeat, panting for breath.

“What took you so long?” He smirked. “I was about to take a nap while I waited.”

“Har har,” Nyel said, shaking his fins like a dog. “It would have been better if you did. I’m exhausted. And hungry.”

“There are still a few cans of sardines in the lighthouse,” Atreus offered, just to see the disgusted look on Nyel’s face.

He laughed, brushing sand from his pants, having already returned to his human form. He was refreshed, like Marvassa exfoliated layers and layers of dead skin.

“What is that?”

“What is what?” Atreus asked. His good mood dimmed when he realized what Nyel was pointing at.

“Your back, on your shoulder. I didn’t notice it earlier.”

Atreus averted his gaze and rolled said shoulder, feeling the familiar tug on his skin. “An old scar. It was a long time ago.”

That should have been it. They should have moved on. But the way Nyel watched him, scales dissipating into the skin as he dried, dark wavy hair appearing over fins, Atreus was too mesmerized to walk away. Too enraptured by Nyel’s pinched brow and the slight downturn of his mouth.

Concern for me.

“Let me see.”

Atreus should have said no. Should tell him it was none of his business. So what compelled him to turn around, giving Nyel full view of his bare back? Of the history written in his skin?

Gentle human fingertips brushed over the swollen wound below his shoulder plate—a circular scar, swollen, white, and dangerously close to his spine.

“A puncture wound,” Atreus said, his voice tight as another pass of Nyel’s fingers sent a shiver through him.

“It looks painful,” Nyel whispered.

It had been. For twenty-something Atreus, it still ached. But at thirteen—just a kid—it had been excruciating. The physical pain was one thing, but the weight of knowing who had inflicted it had cut far deeper.

He could feel Nyel’s quiet curiosity, probing for answers.

“Let’s check on the lighthouse,” he said, shrugging off the touch and climbing the beach without further comment.

Not that. I won’t talk about that.