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Rain falls soft on the water.

She doesn’t speak. Just climbs onto the boat and peels off her mask, face drawn and wet.

I join her a moment later, unsure of what to say.

What todo.

She towels off slowly, then looks up. “So... shipwreck second date?”

I stare.

She shrugs. “What? It’s romantic. Death, danger, emotionally unavailable men. Real classic vibes.”

Despite myself, I laugh. Just once.

And she grins like she won something.

Because maybe she did.

Because this time, I don’t feel completely alone in the deep.

The crate pulses again.

Once. Twice.

Thensurges.

A violent spike of magic ripples through the water—sharp and wrong, like a heart skipping a beat. The pressure shifts instantly, crushing in on us like a whirlpool wrapped in static. Luna jerks backward as the seal flashes from gold to a deep, angry red.

“Move!” I shout, grabbing her wrist.

We launch upward in tandem, the water vibrating around us like it wants tokeepus. I yank her behind the wreck’s hull, shielding her body with mine just as the relic bursts with a wave of raw energy.

Stone cracks. Currents whip. The wreck moans like something alive and betrayed.

I hold her tight, one arm around her waist, the other braced against the hull.

Her chest heaves against mine. Her fingers clutch my side.

And for a second—for one dangerous, fleeting second—I forget everything.

I forget the curse.

The wreck.

The centuries I’ve spent coiled in silence and shadows.

Because she’s here. Warm and furious andso realit burns.

And gods, I want her.

Not like a prince.

Not like a siren.

Not like a broken thing desperate for absolution.

But like aman.