I didn't know what to do with that.
The ship creaked around me, the familiar sounds of wood and rope and water. The other crew members were still sleeping, their snores and mumblings filling the cramped quarters. In afew hours, the day shift would begin, and I'd have to drag myself out of this hammock and pretend to be normal. Pretend to be beta. Pretend that my entire world hadn't shifted on its axis last night.
I wasn't sure I could do it. My hand found the pouch at my chest again, fingers tracing the shapes of the gifts inside. The spiral shell. The sea glass worn smooth by years of tumbling in the waves.
In the week they have been around, they'd given me these things. Left them for me like offerings, like promises. I'd given them my ribbons, the only beautiful things I owned, the last connection to who I'd been before.
Had I made a mistake? Had I revealed too much?
No. The answer came immediately, certain and sure. Whatever was happening between us, whatever strange connection was forming across the impossible divide between human and mermaid, it wasn't a mistake. It couldn't be. Nothing that felt this right could be wrong.
I just had to survive until sunset. Until I could see them again. Until I could figure out what came next.
The morning bell rang, harsh and jarring, and the crew began to stir around me. I forced myself to move, swinging out of my hammock, pulling on my worn clothes, braiding my hair and coiling it beneath my cap. The familiar motions of hiding, of becoming invisible, of being no one important.
My hands shook as I applied my scent blockers. The bottle was nearly empty now. A few more days, maybe a week if I was careful, and then?—
I didn't want to think about then.
The morning passed in a blur of labor and vigilance. I scrubbed decks, mended nets, hauled rope, did all the tasks that had become routine over the past weeks. My body moved automatically while my mind stayed fixed on the water, on thecreatures beneath it, on the sunset that seemed impossibly far away.
Decker found me around midday, because of course he did.
"You look different today, little mouse." He blocked my path in the narrow corridor, his thin frame somehow taking up all the space, his pale eyes glittering with malicious curiosity. His beta scent was sharp and unpleasant, like vinegar left too long in the sun. "Got a spring in your step. Secret smile on your face." He leaned closer, close enough that I could see the pores on his sallow skin, the cruel twist of his thin lips. "What are you so happy about?"
"Nothing." I kept my voice flat, my expression blank, my hands steady at my sides even though they wanted to curl into fists. "Just getting my work done."
"Hmm." He didn't move, didn't give an inch, his pale eyes studying me with that unsettling intensity he'd developed lately. One finger tapped against the wall beside him in a slow, deliberate rhythm. "You've been different for days now. Lighter. Less scared." His smirk widened, showing teeth that were slightly too yellow. "Almost like you've got something to look forward to."
My heart stuttered, but I didn't let it show on my face. "I don't know what you're talking about."
"Don't you?" He reached out and flicked the brim of my cap, a casual cruelty that made me flinch backward, my shoulder blades pressing against the wall. "I've seen you, you know. Sneaking off to the stern every evening. Standing at the railing for hours, staring at the water." His voice dropped low, conspiratorial and mean, like he was sharing a secret we both knew was poison. "What's out there, little mouse? What are you looking at?"
Nothing. No one. Just the sea. The words stuck in my throat. I couldn't say them. Couldn't lie convincingly, not about this, notwith my heart racing and my palms sweating and the memory of four faces in the water burning behind my eyes.
"Leave her alone, Decker." The voice came from behind me—deep, authoritative, carrying an alpha's natural command that made the air in the corridor feel suddenly heavier.
I turned, already knowing who I'd find, already feeling my stomach drop.
Cort.
He stood at the end of the corridor, arms crossed over his broad chest, his small eyes fixed on Decker with casual dominance. He was a big man, thick with muscle, his alpha scent rolling off him in waves that made something deep in my hindbrain want to submit.
I hated that instinct. Hated him for triggering it.
"Just having a conversation." Decker's voice had gone thin, reedy, all the swagger draining out of him as he stepped back, yielding to the higher designation. His shoulders hunched slightly, his eyes dropping to the floor. Betas always yielded to alphas. That was the natural order. "No harm in that."
"Conversation's over." Cort didn't even look at him, his gaze sliding to me instead, and I saw it again, that flicker of interest, of hunger, that had been growing stronger every day. His tongue darted out to wet his lips. "Get back to work."
Decker slunk away, shooting me a resentful look over his shoulder, his footsteps quick and uneven on the wooden planks. I should have felt relieved. Should have been grateful for the intervention.
Instead, I felt trapped.
Because Cort didn't leave. He moved closer, filling the corridor with his bulk, his scent, his presence. Each step was deliberate, measured, like a predator who knew his prey had nowhere to go. I backed up instinctively, and my shoulders hit the wall. Nowhere to go. Nowhere to run.
"You've been avoiding me." His voice was low, almost gentle, but there was something beneath it, something coiled and waiting, like a snake before it strikes. He tilted his head, studying me with those small, calculating eyes. "Every time I try to talk to you, you disappear. Every time I get close, you find somewhere else to be."
"I've been busy." The lie sounded weak even to my own ears, my voice coming out thin and breathless. I pressed my palms flat against the wall behind me, feeling the rough grain of the wood. "Lots of work to do."
