It seemed that Vicky had seen the same news report that Greg had, as she was standing with the throngs of spectators on the banks overlooking Ellis Island. There was an air of stifled muttering as Greg approached; seasoned New Yorkers and tourists alike were disturbed. He rushed up to her as soon as he noticed her.

She turned as his gloved hand clamped on her shoulder, taking a swift intake of breath.

“Greg, don’t do that. I still barely know you—”

“Vicky, it’s Adrien.”

“What?” Her voice betrayed an almost disgusted recoil at the name.

“Adrien!” he repeated, gesturing frenziedly towards the Statue of Liberty. He saw her purposeful hatred diminish in her eyes. She cupped a hand to her mouth and guilty tears trickled from her eyes.

“What was…what was wrong with him earlier?”

“Long story,” he replied hurriedly. “Too long. By the way, your mother seems to think he’s your brother.”

Vicky just stared at him, speechless, while he dashed through the crowd and dove into the water.