Iva's heart ached with love for her.
And then, she saw him.
The unknown man was moving.
He had left the fountain, his steps measured and purposeful, his gaze fixed on a point across the room. He moved through the crowd with an easy confidence, his silver-streaked hair catching the candlelight, his broad shoulders squared with quiet determination. He was not young—perhaps in his late fifties, his face lined with the wisdom of years—but his eyes were bright and full of life.
He was coming toward them.
Iva's breath caught in her throat. Her hand flew to her chest, pressing against the sudden flutter of her heart.
*He's coming,* she mind-linked Caleb, her mental voice sharp with sudden urgency. *The man—the one matched with my mother. He's coming toward our group.*
Caleb's response was
