“The two of us belong to a very select society, Dorian. There are only a handful of people in the world who have heard what we’ve heard. Whether we like it or not, that binds us to one another.”

Dorian gaped. He simply couldn’t accept that this meant what it sounded like. The idea that Ellison could have his own share in the most powerful experiences of Dorian’s life—it was revolting, impossible. He braced himself and looked up, glowering straight into Ellison’s sad brown face. “You’re insane. What do you think I’ve heard?”

Ellison smiled, but there was something shattered and terribly distant in his eyes. “Haven’t we already discussed this once? In Anchorage?”

Dorian’s stomach lurched, and his legs seemed to be crumbling under him, but he did his best to stay brazen. “I don’t know what—”

“Say hello to your girlfriend for me. I expect I’ve made you late for your meeting with her, haven’t I?”

“I’m not—”

“Make sure you give her my message. It’s . . . in her best interest if you do.”

Dorian watched as Ellison turned away and walked back up the hill, his dark body half vanishing in the shadows and then winking into view again as he passed through the rare patches of light. Luce was still calling, but instead of running to her Dorian slumped down abruptly on the brittle grass of a nearby lawn and leaned his head against his knees. He knew he had to tell her what had happened, but as he thought it over he realized that Ellison hadn’t quite said anything that proved the FBI knew about the mermaids. And now Dorian wasn’t sure if he’d be able to remember exactly what Ellison had said to him, much less convey just how threatening and disorienting their conversation had felt.

The wind shrilled through his hair, but now the sound of it was empty of magic. Luce had given up waiting for him, then. He’d just have to find her tomorrow.

It seemed so unfair. Ever since the day of the gray whales, he and Luce had been so happy together. She’d stopped worrying about her old tribe and about the police, and Dorian finally felt like he had her almost completely to himself. He had stopped telling her to become queen, too—he didn’t actually want to share her with the tribe. Even Nausicaa’s hanging around didn’t seem to be much of a problem anymore, though Dorian still would have been glad to hear that she was going away. And now he was supposed to tell Luce—what, exactly? That some FBI agent had dropped a lot of hints that might mean she and all the other mermaids were in serious trouble—or that might just as well mean something totally different?