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Valerie’s lips twist into a bright, genuine smile. “Marta means well. She just protects her own.”

“I noticed. She demonstrated that point with one of her talons.”

Valerie laughs, a quiet sound that carries down the stone corridor. She crosses her arms, rubbing her hands over the sleeves of her shirt.

“I really appreciate this, Sigurd. I know it may seem trivial, but it means a lot to me. I was really worried about them.”

“It’s not trivial,” I reply as I reach into my breast pocket. “It was the least I could do. And speaking of which… Your friend Ms. Nunn asked me to give you this.”

I draw out the waterproof canister and remove the folded note. Valerie stares at the damp square of lined paper before stepping closer to take it. The moment it reaches her hand, she presses it against her chest.

Her shoulders drop, and some of the tension I’ve been watching since I turned the corner finally leaves her. She exhales slowly without opening the note.

“Oh. Thank you,” she whispers, her eyes shining in the dim light. “Thank you so much, Sigurd.”

Saltweather is still there in everything she does. She holds a scrap of paper from Hattie as though it matters more than anything this fortress could offer her. I want to return that life to her intact.

The ancient part of me wants something entirely different. It screams to take her deeper, keep her close, and finish what I started at Mt. Qaf so nothing can separate us again. I refuse to let that instinct decide where she belongs.

My fingers brush against the other item in the canister. I hesitate before drawing out the flower. The bloom is small enough to disappear against my palm, its fleshy petals giving off a steady neon-blue glow. Miraculously, it has survived the journey back to the fortress.

A kraken trying to release his mate should probably know better than to bring her courting gifts. I hold the flower out to her anyway.

“I also brought you this,” I offer. “It only blooms near the deep trenches. I want you to have something beautiful while we wait for you to get better.”

Valerie looks down at the glowing petals, and her breath catches before she reaches for them.

I hesitate before releasing the damp stem. Her warm fingers brush across my cold knuckles as she takes the flower. The brief contact sends every instinct I have in the wrong direction. The blue glow reflects in her eyes when she looks up at me and takes a small step closer.

The careful distance I created between us nearly disappears. If I stay here, I’ll close what remains of it. I’ll put my hands on her waist, pull her against me, and forget every reason I have spent weeks keeping myself away.

Wanting her is not the problem. Wanting to keep her is.

I take a step backward.

“It’s beautiful,” she says, her voice softening, losing its formal edge. She draws another breath and moves into the space I just left. “Sigurd—”

“Keep the stem damp,” I cut her off, forcing my voice back into something practical. “It will sustain the bioluminescence.”

Valerie stops, her brow furrowing as she looks from the flower to me. Whatever she intended to say remains unspoken. Instead, she settles on a simple, “I’ll make sure to take care of it. Thank you.”

“Think nothing of it, Valerie,” I offer. “Now, if you’ll excuse me—I must speak with my mother.”

I turn before instinct can undo the decision. Behind me, Valerie remains in the corridor with Hattie’s note pressed against her chest and the glowing flower in her hand. Every part of me wants to stop, but I keep walking.

13

Where I Belong

Valerie

The Great Hall of the Abyssal Fortress hums with the overlapping voices and laughter of three hundred deep-sea dignitaries. Blue and green bioluminescent flora lines the massive walls, casting a soft glow over the rock floor. Merfolk delegates float in small clusters, their jewels catching the light. The immense scale of the room dwarfs me, exactly as the open ocean does. But the merfolk around me simply drift through it, completely at ease.

I stand near the grand entrance, pressing my spine hard against the cold stone of the archway. Holding myself perfectly still is the only thing keeping me from crossing the room to him.

Across the hall, Sigurd waits by a towering basalt pillar. He’s wearing a dark, meticulous suit. His tentacles remain perfectly still behind his back, stripped of their usual restless energy. He keeps his distance, and every inch of it feels deliberate. He stays away to protect me, convinced I’m not strong enough to handle his life in the abyss. But I refuse to spend the evening tucked into the corner of a gala just because my lungs need pressurized air.

My fingers catch the smooth fabric of my midnight-blue dress. The material slides over my skin, a physical reminder of the armor Madame Eleni crafted for me on the surface.