The hours crawled by. Without her bioluminescence, the room was oppressively dark—a small emergency light in the corner provided barely enough illumination to see her own hands. She huddled on the bed, breathing the dry, dead air, feeling the suit’s constant pressure against her skin.
Everything hurt. Her gills, sealed shut. Her skin, dimmed to nothing. Her Song, silenced. Every modification her father had given her—the gifts that had saved her life and made her special—was being suppressed, strangled, killed by inches.
I’m being erased,she thought.He’s turning me into something I’m not.
The mating mark on her shoulder was the only part of her that still felt alive. It pulsed with warmth, with the echo of Valrek’s presence, with the memory of his touch. The bond stretched between them like a lifeline, and she clung to it with everything she had.
I’ll come back,she’d promised.Before the sun reaches its peak.
The sun must have set hours ago. He would know something was wrong. He would come for her.
But what if he can’t find me?The thought terrified her.
What if Merrick kills him before he gets close?
That thought was worse.
She pressed her hands against her face and forced herself to think. Panic wouldn’t help. Despair wouldn’t help. She needed to be smart, strategic, to find a weakness in Merrick’s plan that she could exploit.
The suit suppresses my modifications, but it doesn’t eliminate them. They’re still there, waiting to be released. The bond with Valrek is still active. Muted, but not broken. Merrick wants me alive.
Something to work with. Not much, but something.
The video call came three hours later.
Merrick’s mercenaries collected her from the room, escorting her down the corridor with firm grips on her arms. She was too weak to fight—the suit had drained something vital from her, leaving her exhausted and shaky—but she kept her head high and her expression blank.
He wants a doll. A trophy. I won’t give him the satisfaction of seeing me break.
They brought her to what had once been her father’s office. The space had been transformed—new furniture, expensive art, a massive screen dominating one wall. Merrick stood at the center of it all, adjusting his collar with the exactitude of a man who knew precisely how every detail contributed to his image.
“Smile,” he instructed as they positioned her in front of the screen. “My partners appreciate beauty, and you’re going to give them a show.”
The screen flickered to life.
Faces appeared—a dozen of them, arranged in a grid. Old men, mostly, with the look of wealth and power that came from generations of unchallenged authority. They examined her like she was a piece of art at auction, their eyes cold and appraising.
“Gentlemen,” Merrick said smoothly. “May I present the crown jewel of my collection? The Siren of Port Cantor herself.”
One of the faces leaned forward, frowning.
“She looks… ordinary.”
“A temporary measure.” Merrick waved a dismissive hand. “The Normalizing Suit suppresses her more dramatic features for travel purposes. Once she’s settled in my estate, the modifications will be displayed in full. Bioluminescent patches, functional gills, enhanced vocal capabilities?—”
“Can she still sing?” Another face, younger, with a cruel twist to his mouth. “I’ve heard stories about the Siren’s Song.”
Merrick glanced at Ariella.
“Demonstrate.”
She stared at him.
“I said?—”
“The suit suppresses my Song.” Her voice was rough, barely above a whisper. “You know that. You designed it that way.”
A flicker of annoyance crossed his face.
