"This is dangerous, you know," Peter whispered with a crooked grin as he swiped his access card against the lab's side panel. The green light blinked, the door hissed open, and with a soft creak we stepped into forbidden territory.
"I love the thrill," I lied, my voice coated in honey while my insides twisted with dread. Every step into that sterile hallway felt like a betrayal to my degree, my career, my sanity. One wrong move, and everything I had worked for could vanish like a breath on glass.
"I never knew you were a thrill-seeker," he chuckled, clearly entertained by the illusion I was spinning.
"I am," I murmured, forcing a playful smile that didn't quite reach my eyes.
Peter led us into a dingy supply room tucked behind the main corridor. It reeked of chlorine and cleaning solvents, sharp and stinging, almost as if the walls had witnessed things they wanted to scrub out. A low overhead light buzzed, flickering ever so slightly, casting our shadows across a stack of forgotten boxes.
He turned, and the hunger in his eyes was animalistic...feral. His gaze lingered on my body with open hunger, like he was about to devour me whole.
"I can't believe we're finally doing this," he breathed, pushing me back against the cold, tiled wall. It wasn't romantic. It wasn't sexy. It felt like pressure.
I plastered on another smile and splayed my hand across his chest. "You look handsome today," I lied again, the compliment sliding off my tongue like oil. My stomach turned, hating me for every word I said.
"Yeah?" His voice dripped with vanity. His forehead was already damp with sweat, though we'd barely touched. He leaned in and crushed his lips against mine, mouth open, hands pawing with no rhythm or grace. His fingers roamed, invasive and impatient, despite me trying to hold his wrists in place with a semblance of control.
"You make me crazy," he groaned, grinding against me without shame.
"Calm down," I said softly, trying to lace it with seduction, but irritation must have cracked through. His body stiffened.
"Is everything okay?" he asked, pulling back just enough to see my face.
"Yeah," I lied again, giving him a shallow peck. "I'm just scared."
"I thought this was what you wanted."
"I thought so too," I said, breathless, "but it's... it's scary."
His face darkened. That charming veneer he wore like a lab coat cracked, revealing something uglier underneath. "You're such a fucking mood killer, Kashton."
"Excuse me?" The words caught in my throat, but I forced them out, already feeling small.
"You've been cock-teasing me for months. What do you even want?"
The sting of that accusation lit something hot in my chest. "Cock-teasing?" I echoed, voice sharp. "Peter, you've been the one cracking crude jokes about the length of my—God, whatever. I didn't come here for this. I came for something real. And now I'm leaving."
I started for the door, but he wasn't done.
"You think I haven't noticed?" His voice dropped. "The way you ask questions? The way your eyes light up anytime I mention restricted projects? You're not here for me. You're sniffing around."
I froze, my back to him. He had caught on—at least partially. I had to think fast.
"This place doesn't exactly have a sparkling reputation," I said over my shoulder. "If I'm curious, it's because I'm not a blind idiot. But if you think I have some master plan to use you, then maybe you're more narcissistic than I thought."
The lie slid off my tongue like a blade. Before he could respond, I slipped out and let the door slam behind me, feigning a retreat.
But I didn't leave.
Instead, I doubled back toward B-Wing, heart hammering like a jackhammer inside my ribs. I kept my face tilted down, away from security cameras, every sense on high alert. Almost every door I passed was sealed tight, the kind with retinal scanners and reinforced locks. My palms were sweating.
And then...luck. An open room.
No one inside.
I slipped in, exhaling a shaky breath, then quickly grabbed a white lab coat from a hook near the door and shrugged it on. I pulled a mask from my back pocket and covered the lower half of my face. It wasn't perfect, but I looked the part now.
The architecture here was familiar...eerily similar to the floor plan I worked on daily. Which meant I knew where they'd be hiding the good stuff. I headed straight for the core research center...only to stop dead in my tracks.
A massive steel gate blocked the hallway ahead, flanked by two heavily armed guards in Marine Facility security uniforms. But something about them was...off. Their posture, their silence, the size of their weapons. I hadn't seen security like this...not even on the high-risk bio floors.
I frowned, instincts prickling at the back of my neck. It was unusual...no, suspicious...to see guards posted inside the facility, especially stationed outside an internal research lab door. Usually, security personnel stayed outdoors, patrolling the gates or sitting lazily by the entrance with coffee mugs and gossip. This wasn't standard.
I edged closer, sticking to the shadows, crouching behind a half-open storage cabinet stacked with sealed oxygen tanks. The faint chemical tang of ethanol clung to the air. From my position, I could just make out the reinforced metal door ahead...and the two guards standing like statues beside it. Their guns weren't standard issue either. These looked military grade.
As I watched, the door hissed and slid open. A man in a white coat stepped inside. I squinted. Not a familiar face.
I made it a point to study every researcher in this place....even the interns in the cafeteria. This man? I'd never seen him before. He wasn't one of us.
That should have been the end of it, but then I heard it...a sharp, high-pitched shriek.
It was faint. Muffled by thick steel and insulation. But unmistakable.
My blood ran cold.
Heart pounding, I slid my phone out and hit record. I had no idea if the mic would pick up the noise, but I had to try. Even if I couldn't prove it, I needed a breadcrumb. A timestamp. A clue that something more was happening behind those doors.
A crunch of boots echoed nearby. The guard on the left turned his head...toward me.
I froze, fingers still clutching my phone, my lungs tight with panic.
His gaze narrowed. I saw his hand twitch toward the weapon on his hip.
I shoved my phone back into my pocket and darted away, silent as I could manage on the slick linoleum floor, my heart hammering so loudly I feared it would give me away.
I turned a corner...only to crash into Peter.
"What the fuck are you still doing here?" he snapped, grabbing my arm as if I were a delinquent child. His face was flushed with irritation.
"I got lost," I said quickly, feigning breathlessness and confusion. "I—I went looking for the exit and took the wrong corridor."
His eyes narrowed. He didn't buy it. Not fully.
He muttered something under his breath and jerked his head toward the main hallway. I followed him out, trying to appear casual while mentally reviewing the recording and what little I'd seen.
We reached the parking lot. The sun was slipping behind the trees, throwing long shadows across the asphalt. I could feel him watching me, tension hanging between us like static.
"I've had enough of you, you know?" Peter said suddenly, his voice sharp and raw. "I can tell when someone isn't attracted to me."
I stopped. Turned.
"Peter—"
"No. Don't give me that bullshit again." His jaw clenched. "You keep saying you're not ready for sex. But you're never going to be ready. You're just... broken, Kashton."
The words hit harder than they should have.
I clenched my fists at my side, biting down on the thousand retorts that bubbled up. The truth was I was using him. For information, for access. But Peter wasn't innocent either.
I knew his stories. The ex-wife he cheated on. The ex-boyfriend he ghosted because he "wasn't into white guys anymore." Like men were collectables. Like people could be discarded the moment they didn't fit a fantasy.
He wanted to own someone. And I let him think he could own me.
"Bye, Peter," I said quietly, opening my car door.
He didn't follow. He just stood there, jaw tight, chest heaving, watching me like he still believed he was the victim.
I drove away without looking back.
***
I sat on the edge of my bed, headphones pressed tight against my ears, replaying the recording for the fifth time. Static. Just static. I adjusted the volume, slowed it down, even held my breath trying to isolate a distant shriek I thought I'd heard in the lab...but no. Nothing. The sound was too faint. Or maybe it had never been there. Maybe I'd imagined it.
Frustration simmered under my skin like a rash I couldn't scratch. I threw the headphones aside and headed downstairs, but the irritation was already etched across my face like a permanent scowl.
Delmar was in the dining room, patiently teaching K'liira how to hold a spoon. He gently corrected the way she wrapped her fingers around the metal handle, and she furrowed her brow in deep concentration as she tried again. Her other hand trembled slightly. I could tell she was trying hard. Too hard.
"She's trying cooked meals now," Delmar said without looking at me, sensing my mood but giving me space. "It's... a start."
I stood at the edge of the room watching her struggle, the sight tightening something inside my chest. She wasn't supposed to have to do this...learn to be human. She was a creature of water, of song and sea, not a girl who needed to navigate silverware and boiled food. Her innocent, sea-soft face made me smile despite myself, but the image also filled me with a sharp ache.
"You know what?" I said suddenly, interrupting. "We don't need to use spoons. A lot of cultures eat with their hands."
I set down the fork and scooped a handful of pasta with my fingers, the marinara sauce squishing between them. I remembered how my mother would recoil in disgust when I did this as a kid. The way she would swat my hand and make a scene if anyone saw me. But today, it felt right. Comforting.
K'liira's eyes lit up. With a delighted squeal, she grabbed a fistful of pasta and shoved it into her mouth, sauce smearing across her cheeks. She looked so pleased, even as noodles flopped onto the table.
Delmar looked at me with a gaze so tender it made my stomach flutter. Admiration shone clear in his sea-glass eyes, warm and deep and maddening.
"Don't look at me like that," I muttered as I rinsed the dishes in the sink.
"Like what?" he asked with faux innocence, stepping beside me.
"Like I'm some kind of hero."
His smile faded slightly. "Okay, I won't. But sometimes... you remind me so much of your dad. He was a hero."
At the mention of my father, something sharp twisted in my chest.
"I'm nothing like him," I said bitterly, my voice barely above a whisper.
"But you are. You just... haven't figured out how to show it yet." He looked at me like he could see straight into my soul. It was terrifying.
Silence lingered between us, thick with unspoken truths and tension.
"I got the job, Kash," Delmar said quietly after a beat. "Diving instructor."
I froze, dish halfway to the drying rack.
"I know taking care of K'liira can be overwhelming," he continued. "If it helps, we can move out. Give you some space."
My fingers clenched around the plate so tightly the ceramic groaned. My knuckles turned white.
"Well, you can now, right? You can afford it." My tone was cold, biting. "Perfect solution."
He didn't say anything, but I could feel him watching me.
"What?" I snapped, slamming the plate onto the drying rack a little too hard.
He chuckled. He fucking chuckled.
"What's so funny?" I asked, teeth gritted.
"I'll look for a place tomorrow," he said with maddening calm.
"Yeah, sure." I snatched the plate from his hand. "You can leave. We're done here."
"We certainly are not. But I'll leave." He had the audacity to smile. A gentle, amused smile like he knew something I didn't.
"Wait," I blurted before I could stop myself.
He paused, eyes still bright. "Yes?"
"I want you to hear something." I wiped my hands and fetched my phone.
We sat together on the couch. I handed him the headphones. His expression changed from curiosity to focused concentration as I hit play.
"Tell me if you hear anything," I said, watching him.
At first, he simply frowned. Then his entire expression shifted. His brows drew low. His jaw tightened. A tremor ran through him.
"Where is this from?" he asked, voice low, edged with a growl.
"You... you heard something?" I asked, surprised.
"Hear? My ears are ringing. How many are there?"
My heart stuttered. "What do you mean?"
"There are three voices. Two women and a child. All of them screaming. In pain."
It clicked. It wasn't that the recording had failed...I couldn't hear it because it wasn't made for human ears. The frequency must've been too high, too sharp...above 20,000 hertz. But for Delmar, whose hearing was adapted to oceanic frequencies, it was loud and clear.
I felt like I was going to vomit. The room swam a little.
"Are they... your people?" I asked hoarsely.
"I don't know," he said, teeth clenched. "But they're aquatic. And they're hurting. Where did you get the recording, Kash?"
I couldn't lie. Not anymore.
I told him everything.
And for the first time, I saw fear in Delmar's eyes. Not for himself. For them.
For what we might find. And what it might cost us.