Page 128 of Storm and Sea

She nodded.

“You know I’d go through hell and high water for you? Right?”

She nodded again.

“You’re,” he fumbled; he wasn’t good at this. “You and I both know I see you as more than just a friend.” Realizing, he quickly added, “Not in a weird romantic way. No offense, but- ew.”

Finally, she laughed, though it sounded a bit hysterical. “Gee, thanks.”

“You know what I mean,” Atreus said, trying to refocus, “It’s more like⁠—”

“Family,” she said so quietly he almost missed it.

“Yeah. Like that.”

His heart hurt so much. He wanted to go back to this morning. He wanted everything to go back to the way it was supposed to be.

“And you know I wouldn’t do anything to hurt you or Giovanni or Horace or⁠—”

“What are you trying to say, Atty?” she clutched his fingers.

He let out a defeated sigh. He was hopeless. Better to show her.

With deliberate slowness, Atreus took the glasses from the nightstand, and with one hand still clasped in both of hers, he tipped it. Marvassa took him, and a second later, Marian held a much larger, webbed, and taloned hand between hers.

She stiffened, turning to stone before his eyes.

“It’s still me,” he whispered and couldn’t help the plea in his voice.

She didn’t respond.

“It’s always been me. I just… never let you see it.”

She nodded again, and he worried she wasn’t breathing.

They sat so long that Atreus’s hand dripped dry. About a minute later, his human hand rested between hers once more. But her posture didn’t relax.

“So Nonno’s stories…” she mumbled.

Atreus nodded. “All true. Probably,” he said with a half-hearted grin. “The old man likes his stories.”

She didn’t smile back.

“After the World War, Mer decided it was for the best to stay hidden,” Atreus explained.

“There are more?”

Atreus nodded. “Yes. An entire village in the bay. That is where Nyel is from.”

Now, she was blinking too much—processing, letting the truth sink in.

“Where are you from?”

“I’m complicated,” he said, deciding it wasn’t time to share his sob story.

“And you eat…”

Only then did Marina’s fears truly dawn on him. Of course, she’d heard the stories—not the ones Horace told at the dinner table, but the ones whispered in the bars. The cautionary tales told by sailors. Legends and myths. Places where facts and fiction swam together in a tapestry of truths and lies. She was scared. She had every right to be.