Galen squats down slowly, alert for any sudden movements. He places the tip of the blade on Tyrden’s chest, where his heart beats the strongest. The Syrena does nothing. Galen rears back and slaps the unconscious Syrena across the face.

Tyrden doesn’t wake up.

27

WE CRASH through the woods in a sort of irreverent way. It’s as if Reed is taking care to disturb every plant and animal in our wake. Which I suppose is good if we’re looking for someone who needs our help.

And bad if we’re looking to avoid bears.

“We don’t want to sneak up on anybody,” he says, as if reading my mind. “Not a bear, not someone who doesn’t want to be found.” I didn’t think of it like that.

By now I’m out of breath and a bit irritated at our speed, which I know is unreasonable because it helps us cover as much ground as possible. “He wants to be found,” I blurt.

Without warning, Reed stops and faces me. “I don’t buy that. Not if he’s in these woods, Emma. If he’s here, if he’s been this close all along, then he doesn’t want to be found.” He takes a step closer to me. “And if he doesn’t want to be found, then what?” He pulls me to him. “But here I am, Emma. Here I am not hiding from you, not running away, not pitching fits.”

It’s then I realize that Reed isn’t stomping around for the heck of it, and not even because he doesn’t want to surprise a sleeping cheetah or whatever. He’s trampling his way through the forest like a human machete because he’s mad. Not mad exactly, not with the torment in his eyes.

He’s frustrated. And he’s taking it out on nature.

But now it looks like he’s about to direct it all back to its source. Me. “I would never have left you, Emma. He’s a fool to have done it. And selfish. He thinks he’s too good for the little ol’ town of Neptune. And that means he thinks he’s too good for you.”

“That’s not what he—”

“And how are we supposed to know what he really thinks? Because he isn’t here, Emma. I am. I have been all along.” He lowers his head. His lips are impossibly close to mine.

Reed smells good. The mix of his usual scent mingles with the smell of the earthy forest and the sweetness of some honeysuckle that he must have brushed through. “I was wrong, Emma. Kissing me doesn’t make up your mind. It’s not end all, say all. It’s not choosing, at least it doesn’t have to be. Give me permission, Emma. Let me have a chance.”

My hands tighten on his arms and I swallow. Once. Twice. I can’t blink. I can only stare into him.

“Give me permission,” he whispers. “It’s already too late for me anyway.”

Did I just nod? Surely not, not enough for a definite yes. But I must have, because he’s leaning in, brushing his lips against mine. They are soft lips, more gentle than I’d imagined.

And I consider the universe. I consider what this could be the start of, what this could be the end of. I consider who I am, where I’ve been, and how I got here. I remember Chloe, my dad, running into Galen on the beach, throwing Rayna through hurricane-proof glass, making Toraf jump out of a helicopter, bringing a wall of fish to an underwater Tribunal. I remember tingles and kisses and blushes and inside jokes and winks and knowing glances.

And none of it, not any of it, has anything to do with this kiss.

So I stop it.

Reed seems to know. That I’m not just stopping this kiss. I’m stopping any chance we might have together. That I’ve made my choice. That it’s not about water or land, Neptune or New Jersey or the Atlantic Ocean. It’s about choosing between Reed and Galen.

And I’ve chosen Galen.

He nods, backing away slowly. “All right then.” He sucks in a breath of air. “Okay.”

“I’m sorry,” I tell him.

He rakes a hand through his hair and holds up his other, halting me. “No, it’s fine. No need for apologies. That’s what I wanted to know, right? That was the whole point. And now I know.”

We embrace a perpetual silence then, as if letting the cosmos settle from our decisive kiss. After a while, the peaceful quiet turns into tangible awkward. I’m about to announce as much, but a bush rustles behind Reed.

Mr. Kennedy steps out. “Oh, goodness, you two gave me an awful fright.”

Reed is almost successful at not rolling his eyes. Almost. “Hi, Mr. Kennedy.”

The older man smiles. He must just be starting for the day, because his lab coat is still immaculate and pressed and smudge free. The smear of white sunscreen on his nose hasn’t absorbed in yet. “Reed, Emma. Lovely to see you two again this morning.” But by his tone, it isn’t lovely to see us. In fact, I’ve never heard Mr. Kennedy sound … egotistical before. And I’ve never ever seen him sneer. “I’m so happy you decided not to gallivant south of the river, though there is a mother black bear and her two cubs close by in that direction.” He points, letting his thumb linger in the air. Something is off. “Of course, with Davy Crocket here, you very well might have gone against my advice to stay north of the river. But, Emma, you talked him into listening, didn’t you? You’re a good girl, aren’t you, Emma?”

And then Mr. Kennedy pulls a gun on us.

28

THINGS COULD be worse.

The sun is rising, giving Galen a general sense of direction as he makes his way through the forest. He has no idea where he is—or if he’s headed the right way—but the logical thing to do would be to find a water source. In water, he’ll be able to sense other pulses around him and trace them back to Neptune.