I tasted blood where I’d bitten the inside of my cheek, old anger flaring beneath grief. “Meris made sure of that.” I looked away then, because if I didn’t, I might finally shatter.
“She deserved better than the son I was.” Images of her came in jagged flashes: the warmth of her hands, rough from work at the docks; her smile, tired but fierce; the way she always looked at me like I was something good.
“She believed in me,” I choked. “Even when I gave her no reason to. She welcomed me home with open arms, even when my hands were stained with blood.”
I let out a hollow laugh, dry and bitter. “She died with the memory of the boy she loved—never knowing the monster her son had become.”
My hands shook. My chest heaved. Still, I couldn’t look at her.
“It’s true,” I said at last, my voice a rasp. “Every raid, every ruin, every desecration—I did those things. The thought of losing her was unbearable. I was selfish. Foolish. Arrogant enough to believe I could bend the will of the gods to keep her alive.”
My voice faltered, rough and uneven. “I was wrong. So gods-damned wrong. And I have paid the price for my arrogance.”
I forced myself to raise my head, even though it burned—though the weight of her eyes might crush me.
Her face blurred for a moment as my vision stung. “I’ll burn before I let my foolishness cost me you the way it cost me her.”
A hollow sound escaped me—half laugh, half choke.
“The worst part?” I said, shaking my head. “I did find immortality in the end. Just not the way I’d hoped.”
I dragged a hand through my hair, bitter amusement curling at my mouth though it never reached my eyes. “Eternity to remember I was too selfish to simply stay by her side. Too arrogant to accept that death comes for us all—and that sometimes… love means letting go.”
My attention returned to Nerina, raw, unguarded.
“Nerina…” My voice was low, rough with truth. “I’d damn myself a thousand times over if it meant sparing you from even one of my sins.”
Now Nerina knew more than she ever had.
I hated that she’d heard it from Veyrion first—through carefully chosen words and twisted truths. I should have told her myself. I should have trusted her with the weight of it before anyone else could use it against me.
I did those things. Not just to mermaids. To humans. To supernatural creatures with names and families and hopes. I tore through them like obstacles, not people.
“You’re the pirate,” she said. “The one they whisper about. The one who destroyed the Sanctuary of Milos.”
Each word landed with surgical precision. My chest constricted. I tasted iron.
“The Veil,” she continued, voice calm, merciless. “It is because of you.”
Light bled through her skin, pale and unforgiving. The air thickened, pressure rolling outward in slow, crushing waves.
I’d seen magic snarl and rage. This was different. Not fury. Grief.
In that moment, I wished more than anything that love alone could undo what I’d done. But monsters don’t get redemption. Or love. Or happy endings. They get memory, pain, and silence.
I broke the quiet first.
“It’s a lot,” she said at last, voice low, carefully controlled. “Everything you’ve told me.” She paused, steadying herself like she was holding the pieces together by force alone. “I… I need time. To think. To process.”
I didn’t look away. I couldn’t. I owed her that much.
The silence that followed was heavy and ruthless. All I could think was how badly I wanted her to ask me to stay—give me something to cling to. Some sign this hadn’t shattered us beyond repair.
She held my gaze, unflinching. There was hurt there, raw and unmistakable, even as she refused to let it break her. I waited for her to recoil.
For the moment when she would finally see what I was and step back in horror.
She didn’t.
