SANTORINI. GREECE, 1990

COMPLETELY MOTIONLESS, MEGEARA SAATSAKIS STOOD ON the edge of a cliff looking out on waters so perfectly blue they were almost painful to behold. The air was fragrant with sea salt, olive oil from the merchant carts, and bright sunlight in a homey scent that was completely unique to this region. The hot sun caressed her tanned skin while the fierce breeze whipped her plain white dress against her body. Boats glided over the gentle waves in a surreal manner that took her back to the days of her childhood when she'd walked these cliffs and shore with her father and mother while they'd done their best to instill in her what it meant to be Greek.

It was truly one of the most beautiful scenes in all the world, and any other twenty-four-year-old would love to be here.

She only wished she were one of them.

Instead she hated this place with an unreasoning fervor. To her, Greece was death and sorrow, utter misery, and she would rather have fishhooks pounded into her body than ever step foot on this land again.

Her long blond hair that she had swept back in a ponytail slapped against her skin as she sought some peace for her troubled thoughts. But there was none to be had.

Only bottled-up rage met her.

Her estranged father was dead. He'd died as he'd lived… in pursuit of a stupid, reckless dream that had taken not only his life but also that of her mother, her brother, her aunt, and her uncle.

"Atlantis is real, Geary. I can feel it radiating out to me even as I speak. It sits in the Aegean just below us, like a lost, glittering gem, waiting for us to find it and show the world what beauty it once held." Even now she could hear her father's hypnotic voice as he held her hand on top of the water for her to feel the softness of the waves as they whispered against her tiny palm. She could still see his handsome, enthusiastic face as he first told her why they spent so much time in Greece.