Anything.
Instead, I had silence. Distance. And a man who couldn’t quite meet my eyes.
We hadn’t spoken of what happened. Not of the blood. Not of Shadeau. Not of the kiss. Not of the word accident he’d given me like it might soften the edges if I held it long enough.
The tension between us had grown thick enough to cut, and I needed space. Space to think. To breathe. To feel. And here, in the water, I felt everything more vividly.
Eventually, the heat dulled from comfort to lethargy, and the water felt less like refuge and more like a tide trying to keep me. I knew I couldn’t stay submerged forever. I braced my arms on the rim of the basin and rose, water cascading from my scales in liquid ribbons that caught the firelight like molten silver.
The change began as the water dried.
No sudden tearing this time—just the slow, inevitable shift, like a tide turning beneath my skin. My tail split down the center, thepressure building behind my knees a deep, aching pull instead of the bone-cracking agony it had once been. The first time I’d transformed, I’d screamed until my voice broke. Now, it was more like stretching a sore muscle.
Fins drew inward, their silk edges curling before vanishing, scales receding in a shimmer until there was only skin. Human legs took their place, pale and bare in the lamplight, kissed by the cool air until a shiver shot up my spine.
I caught the towel Garen had left and wrapped it tight around me, sealing in what warmth remained. My fingers lingered at the edges of new-formed skin, careful of the tender seams where scale met flesh.
Dressing was slow—a ritual. Soft linen underthings. Sea-blue trousers. A loose cotton shirt that still smelled faintly of woodsmoke. I fumbled with the buttons longer than I should have, muttering a quiet curse before finally getting them to cooperate.
At the desk, I dragged a brush through my hair, loosening tangles with slow, practiced strokes. The mirror showed me a face I half-recognized—barefaced, cheeks flushed, damp silver waves clinging to my shoulders. There was a softness there I didn’t often see, something more ocean than woman. The crescent mark on my brow glowed low and steady, its pulse keeping time with my heartbeat. Beneath my skin, faint constellations traced my collarbones and curled down my arms, the night sky pressed into flesh.
I looked like a girl shaped by the ocean—and claimed by something other still.
I didn’t feel powerful. I felt hollow. If this was only the beginning, I wasn’t sure how much of myself would be left by the end.
The door creaked open. A soft knock against the frame. I stiffened.
Alaric filled the doorway—broad-shouldered, arms roped with muscle and ink, shadows catching on the hard lines of his jaw. His dark hair fell in that careless, just-tousled way, framing eyes I’d once thought unreadable but now knew could burn or soften in equal measure.
His skin was a map of stories I didn’t know yet—the black coil of a serpent winding over one forearm, the fierce glare of a woman’s face inked across the other, a ship etched into the swell of his bicep. Color spilled over his knuckles and up his neck, disappearing beneath the loose collar of his shirt, hints of red and gold catching in the lantern light.
He stepped inside, slow and deliberate, each stride drawing that restless energy closer until it pressed against my skin like heat. Something in him felt too tight—like his control had been cinched one notch past comfortable.
I hated that I froze anyway. Hated that, no matter how angry I was with him, my body still recognized him before my mind did.
When he reached the desk, he leaned in, bracing his arms on either side of me. His tattoos shifted with the movement—colors bending over muscle, the ink alive in the flicker of the lantern. The scent of him was there too, maddeningly familiar: salt, cedar, and something darker that clung to the edges of him like shadow.
My anger didn’t leave. It just tangled itself with something else entirely.
For a moment, he didn’t speak—just stood there, shadows breaking over his face like waves on jagged rock. His eyes locked on mine, steady, searching, like he was trying to read the currents in my mind.
His fingers tapped the desk once, a soft knock that still felt like a verdict.
"You saved my life, Nerina. And I haven’t even properly thanked you. So… thank you."
Not pretty or poetic. Real.
I nodded, because it was easier than explaining that gratitude didn’t undo consequences.
A crooked, tired half-smile cut across his mouth. "I’m sorry I’ve been so..distant. I was angry. At you. At myself. But we’ll figure this out. The Black Marrow. The curse. You. All of it."
Tell him you have figured it out, tell him you have the eye!
Then, quieter—almost for himself: "Morgra always did have a soft spot for me. I’m sure we can come to an agreement."
I exhaled, something caught between a laugh and a surrender. "I’m sorry, too. For gambling with your ship, your crew, you. For the way I reacted. I was… scared. Angry."
He didn’t answer right away.
