“Reeve?” My voice squeaks past my chattering teeth.
He looks up.
There’s no blood.
His lenses are intact.
His eyes are bright.
So bright.
Unnaturally bright.
I take one more step and drop into the magical abyss that didn’t steal Reeve’s life. “You’re not dead.”
A slow smile tilts his mouth before climbing into his stare.
“Your eyes…”
He ambles toward me, so at ease it sets my nerves on edge. “What about them?”
“They glow?”
“Do they?”
“Turn.” My whisper is urgent, yet his pivot is excruciatingly unhurried.
I comb my fingers through the wavy strands at his nape. As I press them up, my anticipation transforms into confusion, because no runes brighten his skin. “I don’t understand…”
“I’m not worthy of the Atlantean brand—yet.”
“But you’re alive.” My hand plummets to my side. “And your eyes…”
He turns back to face me, the gray so reflective it resembles platinum.
“I don’t understand,” I whisper.
He holds out one hand. I frown, assuming he wants me to take it until I catch the carved glow of a rune at the heart of his palm. A rune that reads…
“Shield,” he says.
My eyes don’t just rise to his face; they bounce. “How do you know what it says?”
“I just do.”
“Can you speak it?”
“I don’t know. Say something.”
In Atlantean, I tell him, “The earth shook and wouldn’t stop. It was Gaea’s doing. That’s why I couldn’t get to you sooner.”
His throat dips. His chin too. “I thought you abandoned me.”
I suck in air because—because… “That wasn’t English.”
Another swallow jostles his throat. “I don’t deserve this gift. I don’t deserve you.”
I grip his jaw. “She thinks you do, and our goddess is never wrong.”
