Isla has dozed off by the time Moira arrives. The sea witch moves with quiet efficiency, setting her bag down and kneeling beside the sofa to study Isla's sleeping face. After a moment, she reaches out and presses two fingers to Isla's forehead. Magic flares, gentle and seeking, and Isla's eyes flutter open.
"Moira." Recognition brings a small smile. "You're here."
"I'm here." Moira's tone carries warmth but also concern. "Grayson says you shifted."
"I did." Isla sits up slowly, keeping the blankets wrapped tight. "Twice. Into the water and back out again."
Moira's expression shifts to something grave. "Tell me everything. Don't leave out any details, no matter how small they seem."
So Isla does. She describes the attack, the flight to the cliffs, the moment of decision when she dove into the water. The mist and thunder and light. The sensation of being a seal, of belonging to the ocean completely. The choice to return despiteevery instinct screaming to stay. The second time shifting back to human form.
Moira listens without interruption, but her face grows more concerned with each sentence. When Isla finishes, the sea witch sits back on her heels and is quiet for a long moment.
"This is both very good and very dangerous." Moira's words are measured, careful. "Your awakening has begun, which means your selkie heritage is fully active now. That's good. It means you have access to powers that can help protect you and these waters."
"But?" Isla prompts when Moira pauses.
"But it's happening wild. Uncontrolled. Triggered by extreme stress rather than intentional practice." Moira's attention moves to me, then back to Isla. "Most shifters are taught as children. Their parents guide them through the first shifts, teach them control, show them how to call their animal intentionally. You just did it twice in an hour with no one to teach you, no preparation at all."
"And I need to learn to do it on purpose," Isla says. "Not just when I'm in danger."
"Exactly." Moira nods. "You've opened the door, but right now you're not controlling when it opens. Your seal came forward to save you, which is good. But you need to be able to shift when you choose to, not just when instinct takes over. Otherwise you're at the mercy of your own power."
The words hit like a blow to the chest. Isla stares at Moira, processing. Protective fury floods through me, demanding I fix this threat I can't fight.
"So what do I do?" Isla's voice is steady despite the fear visible in her clenched hands.
"We accelerate your training." Moira stands, already planning. "Starting tomorrow, we work every day. Teaching you to shift intentionally. To hold seal form for extended periods.To transition smoothly between forms without burning yourself out. It won't be easy, and it won't be quick, but it's the only way to keep you safe."
"How long?" I hear myself ask.
"Weeks, ideally." Moira's expression is grim. "But we don't have weeks. Carrick knows what she is now. His people saw her transform, saw her powers. He'll move faster, push harder. We'll be lucky if we have days before he makes another attempt."
"Then we make those days count." Isla's declaration carries more strength than someone wrapped in blankets and shaking with exhaustion should possess. "I'm not running. I'm not hiding. You teach me, and I'll learn. Whatever it takes."
Moira studies her for a long moment, then nods. "Good. Because there's something else you need to know." She pauses, and tension thickens the air between us. "I've been researching Carrick since we learned he was collecting supernatural artifacts. Following his trail through old grimoires, tracking what he's bought and from whom. The pattern points to one specific ritual."
"What ritual?" Isla asks.
"A binding." Moira's expression is grim. "Your blood isn't just valuable to Carrick for power. It's valuable because selkie blood, willingly shed in the right ritual, can bind the ancient entity sleeping beneath these waters. He doesn't want to release it. He wants to control it. Make himself the most powerful mage in the world by harnessing something that predates human magic by millennia."
The implications are staggering. Carrick doesn't just want to exploit the protected waters. He wants to enslave something ancient and vast, something that has slept here since before shifters or humans walked this island. And Isla's selkie blood makes her a target for that ritual.
"Then we don't let him have it." My words come out as a growl. "We train. We prepare. And when he comes for her again, we're ready."
Moira meets my gaze with understanding that goes soul-deep. She knows what I'm promising. What I'll do to keep Isla safe. What lines I'll cross and what prices I'll pay.
"Training starts tomorrow at dawn." Moira picks up her bag and looks at me. "Get her fed. Get her rested." Then she turns to Isla. "Tomorrow, we help you learn to control what you already are."
She leaves, and I'm alone with Isla in the tower's warm interior. Outside, the sun is setting, painting the water in shades of gold and crimson. Inside, everything has changed. Isla is a shifter now, awakened and dangerous and targeted by forces that want to use her for power.
I kneel beside the sofa, taking her cold hands in mine. "We'll get through this. I promise."
"I know." She squeezes my fingers. "Because I'm not doing it alone. I have you. The brotherhood. Eliza. Moira. We'll face whatever comes together."
The certainty in her voice wraps around my heart like a promise. But underneath the warmth of her trust, dread sits heavy in my gut. Moira is right about one thing—Carrick knows what Isla is now. He'll come for her again, and soon.
I feed her. Get her settled into my bed upstairs. Watch her fall asleep with exhaustion finally claiming her completely. Then I return to the window, staring out at the darkening water as night claims the island. Somewhere out there, Carrick is planning his next move. He won't send another capture team. Won't bother with silver chains or containment equipment.
