Leaving Thalassia had felt necessary—urgent. But now… Now I wasn’t so sure.
In Thalassia, I’d been trapped. Controlled. Watched. But at least I’d been safe.
Here, I was alone. Changed. Unrecognizable even to myself.
Aboard a strange ship, with foreign limbs I didn’t know how to use, and a pirate whose motives I couldn’t begin to guess. Was I his prisoner? His curiosity? His bounty?
How long until my mother realized I was gone? Maybe she already had. Maybe the Sentinels were already scouring the currents for any sign of me. Maybe they were closer than I expected.
Or maybe…Maybe this was the only place they wouldn’t look. Nobody would search a pirate ship for a mermaid.
And no one would think of looking for me as something close to human.
The thought struck hard, knocking the air from me. What if this ship—this haunted vessel filled with strangers and shadows—was exactly where I was meant to be? Not because it was safe. I had no way of knowing that.
But it might be the one place I could disappear until they docked. Then I could slip away—quiet, unseen—and find my footing on land.
Maybe then I’d find answers. Maybe then I’d reclaim a version of myself I could recognize. Maybe I was safe here. Maybe I wasn’t.
Either way, I needed to know why the pirate saved me—and what it would cost.
8
Alaric
The Black Marrow, On Course to the Forgotten Trench
One thing about me: if there’s a wrong place and a wrong time, I’ll be there.
Lucky for me, the storm had kept the skies overcast. I had no interest in testing how much sunlight my curse would tolerate before it turned me to cinders. Even now, the memory of scorched flesh—the stink of burning skin—lingered at the edges of my mind. A lesson carved deep enough to never fade.
The Black Marrow groaned under the weight of the sea, timbers creaking as waves slapped the hull. She’d weathered tempests that would’ve split lesser vessels, yet even she seemed to shudder beneath my boots. Above, the rigging swayed in a chorus of strained whispers, and a cool, salty breeze slipped through every crack, carrying brine, aged oak, and the faintest trace of ozone. Rust, soaked rope, and the musty breath of a ship long at sea thickened the air—charged with the quiet that followed a storm’s passing. Rain still dripped from the limp sails,each droplet pattering against the deck like the fading notes of a half-forgotten song.
But the storm had done more than batter the ship.
It had left something behind.
Invisible. Watching. Wrong.
The usual chatter had faded to mutters. Crew members exchanged wary glances, shoulders stiff, eyes cutting toward the shadows.
Even I felt it—the hum beneath my boots, the weight pressing through the wind.
I’d lived with curses long enough to recognize attention when it turned toward you.
The crescent on her forehead had glowed when she looked at the artifact—not a faint shimmer, but a pulse. A second heartbeat. The lines shifted subtly, responding to the shard.
It wasn’t just light.
It was alive.
The quartz shard hadn’t stopped pulsing since Nerina came aboard, its erratic hum gnawing at the edges of my mind like a splinter I couldn’t dig out. Each beat sent a phantom echo through my chest.
She’d been in my quarters a little over a day now—my decision, and one the crew already resented. I had my reasons. Keepingher close meant keeping watch, making sure she didn’t slip away with answers I needed. The shard’s response to her hadn’t faded, a steady reminder that whatever bound them wasn’t ordinary.
Coincidence wasn’t in my vocabulary. She was tied to it—I felt it in my gut. A familiar voice cut through my thoughts.
“Is she awake, Cap'n?” Garen’s expression was tight.
