I felt like I was watching myself from afar in the days, weeks, and months that followed. I cycled through almost every stage of grief: denial, anger, bargaining, depression, acceptance—it was like clockwork. The final stage never really sunk in, though. I felt stuck in the first four stages. One minute, I wanted to scream until my lungs bled and cry until I had no voice left.

The next, I thought about how I desperately wanted to talk to Raina. After the shocking revelation, I realized how broken I'd become—how wretched and cruel—and how Raina would hate me if she were here. I hated myself. I buckled under every vile, hateful thought I'd ever had about myself.

Wretched. Cruel. Broken. Weak. Coward. I wished I could outscream, outcry the hollowness gnawing at my bones, festering in my heart.

Every time I woke drenched and gasping for water from the recurring nightmare, I had to remind myself that the sweat on my body was just that—sweat—and not the blood of Raina's twin. Whenever I bothered to look at myself in the mirror, I had to remind myself that it was me and not the dead, unseeing eyes of Raina's twin. Gods, I couldn't even think her name, much less voice it.

I hardly saw anyone in my haze of grief and shame. All I could think about was... her. It wasn't until I felt my chest hitch that I realized I was crying. Great, heaving sobs tore from my chest, the sounds equivalent to my soul cleaving in half.

I had no recollection of what happened following the mermaid's death. Everything after seeing her body sink to the seafloor was a blur. Judging from the state of my body and clothes, Mom had carried me to bed and washed the blood from my hands, face, neck, and arms.

I had no idea how long it had been since then, but judging from the multiple trays of shrimp and bubble tea left untouched on my side table, I assumed at least a week had passed. I lowered my face into my hands, muffling my scream, which slowly morphed into a broken sob. I didn't feel anything—no grief, no shame, no hatred. My gaze was blank, my tear-filled eyes hollow as I stared at nothing.

When the knock sounded on my door, I didn't open my mouth. Couldn't muster up the energy to lift my head. I heard the door creak open, black hair filling my vision as the merman swam inside our room. "Faye?" His voice was gentle and filled with worry, making me cry harder. I didn't deserve that worry, that pity. Nor did I deserve the love and compassion that came with it.

My sobs turned into hiccuping gasps, which slowly morphed into pathetic-sounding whimpers. As I felt my brother sit on the side of the bed and reach for me, I shied away. Not so much from fear but from shame. "N-no." The word was broken and weak.

It was barely more than a push of breath, but it didn't deter Drew. He wordlessly pulled me into his arms, gripping me tightly despite the blows I rained upon his gut. The residual shame and anger festering in me came rushing out of me when my fist slammed into his stomach.

Blow upon blow, his grip never loosened; he never grunted or showed any pain. "Let it out, Faye," he murmured, his words soothing despite the pain that filled them. "Just let it out."

After a while, I stopped hearing his words—stopped feeling his arms around me. I even stopped feeling the shame and anger building inside me. I felt numb. It shocked me at first, but then I welcomed it. If it meant a reprieve from the unending torment I'd been experiencing, I would do anything.

I didn't deserve to feel anything—positive or negative. I deserved the endless spiral of nothingness I'd subjected myself to since what happened. No matter what Zander had done—no matter the situation I'd found myself in—it didn't change the fact that another mermaid was dead because of me. I was the one who'd plunged that dagger into her heart; I was the one who had to live for the rest of my life with the image of the light leaving her eyes.

When I collapsed against him, shaking, he pressed a kiss to the top of my head. Neither of us spoke for several long minutes. I was the one who broke the silence, my voice hollow. "I-t w-as m-y f-ault. S-he's d-ead b-ecause o-f m-e."

I felt Drew tense; his voice was harsh and cold when he spoke. "You did nothing wrong." He was trembling with invisible waves of fury rippling from his body. "Do you hear me? You did nothing wrong. If anyone's to blame, it's Zander."

He exhaled a harsh breath, and his voice broke when he spoke again. "You were forced into an impossible situation, and you made the best decision possible under horrible circumstances. No one blames you. You've been through so much these past few months—endured more tragedy than anyone should have."

Emotion choked him so much that he had to duck his head and swipe at his face. A faint whistling noise made him snap his head up and look toward the window. I'd have dismissed it as nothing, but the way his body tensed again had my senses on immediate alert. When he turned back to me, I could hear the fear in his voice. "Faye—"

It was almost identical to what happened with Leith. There was one difference, however—one I didn't take note of at the time but knew I'd come back and examine later. The dagger was a speargun—a weapon I'd never seen in person before. The combination of Drew's grunt and the spear embedding itself in his back was the worst sound I'd ever heard. My mouth was open, but I couldn't tell if I was screaming or crying or simply gasping.

I lurched toward him, my breath a ragged, harsh sound in my ears. He grunted again, and a sob escaped my lips. "MOM! DAD! SOMEONE HELP!" I screamed.

No sooner had the words left my mouth than the door to our suite opened. Dad swam in first. "Faye? What's—" Words failed him as he stopped dead, the sight of his son with the spearhead protruding from his back rendering him speechless. Mom entered a heartbeat later, a horrified, anguished scream breaking from her lips.

Blood was already soaking my hands, arms, and clothes—a cruel replica of what had happened with Leith. I was indeed gasping, choked sobs mixing with Drew's ragged gasps for water. I exchanged a pleading glance with Dad, my arms buckling under the weight of my brother's near-limp body. The back of his shirt was soaked with blood, even more leaking from the wound. If we didn't get it out soon, he could die—but at the same time, I worried about the blood loss that would surely follow.

Dad read the anguish and panic in my eyes and nodded, quickly bursting into action. Tearing off his shirt, he carefully but efficiently gripped the shaft with one hand, balling up his shirt with the other. He swallowed hard before taking a deep breath and letting it out slowly. "Drew, I'm sorry, son, but this is going to hurt." Before the words had even finished echoing, Mom had torn a chunk off her hem and handed it to Drew to bite down on.

Without hesitating, Drew clamped down on the fabric, gripping my hands so tightly I could all but feel the bones groaning. Over his head, Dad locked eyes with me, then Mom, mouthing the words. Three, two, one. He hadn't even closed his mouth before gently but firmly pulling the spear out.

The scream from my brother's mouth was nothing I ever wanted to hear again. I felt it in my soul—the crack seconds away from cleaving my heart in half. I couldn't lose Drew. I couldn't. He was the last living member of our family—my only connection to our birth parents. The last thing I was aware of before everything went black was cool hands on my clammy face.

Hours, days, or minutes later, I opened my eyes. I was lying down in our suite on top of the blankets. I pushed myself up to a sitting position, ignoring the rush of dizziness that followed. For a heartbeat, I didn't remember what had happened, but then it all came rushing back. Drew. The speargun. Mom. Dad. Screaming. Crying.

When the knock sounded on our suite door, I cleared my throat before speaking, my voice barely a whisper. "Come in."

I heard the door open and then close as someone swam inside. "Faye?" I slumped back against the pillows as I heard Jonah's voice. Then, the tears came back with a vengeance. I saw a blurry figure swim inside the bedroom and approach the bed.

I hadn't even meant to speak the words aloud, but there they were, out in the open. "This is all my fault." The harsh, ugly truth staring me in the face. Zander had even said it himself. I was responsible for the estrangement between him and Waverly. That was why he went after my family in the first place. Even though I'd done what he said and killed Raina's sister, he didn't stop there. He would never stop until everyone in my family was dead.

Jonah quickly shook his head, reaching for my hands. "No. Listen to me. None of what happened today is your fault. If anyone's to blame, it's Zander."

It was only when the words left his mouth that I realized I was trembling. Chills wracked my body so violently that my teeth clacked together. I met Jonah's gaze, fear flashing in my eyes.

"It's okay," he soothed. "You're in shock. You've had no time to absorb what's happened, and it's just now sinking in. Get some sleep. I'm not going anywhere." As if to prove his point, he swam into bed beside me, wrapping his arms around me and tucking me into his warmth.

My eyes were already closing, sleep tugging me under, when they suddenly flew open again. "Drew!" My voice broke. "W-where is he? Is he okay? Tell me he's okay." My voice rose with every word, and I knew I was edging toward hysteria.

I felt more than saw his nod. "He's recovering. The doctors had to do emergency surgery. By some miracle, it missed his spine by a scale's breadth but nicked some major blood vessels." That must have been the reason for all the blood loss, I realized.

When he spoke again, his voice was gentle. "Sleep, Faye. Your body needs it. When he wakes up, we can see him. I promise."

Despite the urgency pulling at me, I couldn't resist sleep's undertow. I nestled into the warmth of Jonah's arms and welcomed the blessed darkness as it finally pulled me under.

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