The mangroves parted as Jennifer stepped into the clearing. Moonlight slicked the water in silver, sea and river breathing together until she couldn't tell which tide ruled the night.
A figure was waiting where sand met foam—barefoot, coatless, rain streaming down his jaw. He turned, as if he had always known she would come.
"You came." His voice was low, a ripple on still water.
Jennifer stopped a few feet away, lantern trembling in her hand. The name caught in her throat. "Arjun?"
He smiled, quiet and certain. "That is one of my names."
The words tilted the air. One of?
"You wrote the letter," she said. "You've been—"
"I've been waiting," he said, stepping closer. "Through every storm this house has ever known."
The scent of sandalwood and rain wrapped around her, warm and impossible. He wasn't quite transparent, but not quite solid either; his form shimmered like heat above stone.
Jennifer braced herself and met his eyes. "What are you?"
Lightning flickered at the horizon, and for an instant she saw two faces—an armored warrior with the fires of 1510 burning in his gaze, and a young man in a 1961 khaki shirt, chin high with defiance. Both pairs of eyes belonged to him.
"I am what the sea remembers," he said. "A promise made twice. A life unfinished."
Her pulse thundered to her fingertips. "Why me?"
"Because you are the key," Arjun said. "Your blood is tied to Villa Amparo. And to me."
The river swirled warm around their ankles.
"I don't understand," she whispered.
"You will," he said, extending his hand, rain sliding across his skin. "If you trust me."
She looked at his hand—real enough to cast a shadow—then placed her own in his. A current surged through her, not cold but electric, a shock of recognition down every nerve.
The world bent. The mangroves vanished in a sweep of color—gold, crimson, the clang of distant bells. Smoke, spices, and salt filled the air.
For a heartbeat she stood on another shore. Crimson sails lined the horizon. Cannons roared. Portuguese soldiers shouted. Behind them, a burning fortress.
She gasped, and the vision broke. The moonlit river returned, but Arjun's grip anchored her to now.
"You saw it," he said, voice rough with relief. "The beginning."
Her breath came hard. "That was five centuries ago."
"And it is happening again," he said. "Unless we break the tide."
He pressed something small and cold into her palm—a medallion, etched with the D'Costa crest, slick with seawater though no wave had ever touched it.
"Find its twin," Arjun said. "Before the next full moon. Only then can I—"
The wind shrieked, drowning his last words. The lantern flame snapped out.
Blinking in the dark, Jennifer found herself alone on the empty shore. Only the medallion remained in her hand, still gleaming faintly in the moonlight.