The silhouette didn't move at first—not in any way a human body would. It simply hovered in the water a few feet from the stone shelf, so still that for a moment Isla thought it might be an illusion formed by shadow and panic. But illusions didn't make the water tense. They didn't make the temperature shift around her like a held breath. They didn't send a slow, deliberate ripple toward her legs, brushing her skin as though testing how she would react.
She tried to rise, but her limbs shook traitorously. The stone beneath her was slick from algae and tide-polish, and she could already feel herself slipping toward the edge. The cavern was too quiet now. Even the distant hum from the outer tunnel seemed to fade, as if the sea itself were stepping back to allow the moment room to unfold.
Her heart pounded with a pressure that had nothing to do with water. She swallowed automatically, forgetting for one stupid second that her throat wasn't supposed to be filled with liquid. A tremor rolled through her as the shape in the water drifted slightly closer, its outline sharpening in the faint, bioluminescent glow that laced the cavern like broken constellations.
Then she saw the eyes.
Huge. Luminous. Storm-silver threaded with darker rings of ink. They hovered just above the waterline, watching her with a cold, ageless patience. The pupils flexed like they were adjusting to her movements, widening and narrowing with predatory calculation. They were beautiful in the way lightning was beautiful—arresting, mesmerizing, and catastrophic.
Isla's breath—her impossible, water-filled breath—hitched violently. She scrambled backward on the slab, her palms skidding on the wet stone. The pearls at her collarbone clinked faintly with the motion, cold against her skin, and for a moment she hated that necklace more than she hated the cave or the water inside her lungs. It felt like the last human thing on her—and yet somehow, even it belonged more to the sea now than to her.
"Don't," she whispered, except nothing carried through the water. Her lips moved, but the sound died instantly. It didn't matter. The creature—man—whatever he was—saw the plea in her face. His eyes narrowed with an unreadable expression before he rose a little higher in the water… enough for her to see more.
His hair, black as ink and long enough to drift in dark waves, floated around him like a living current. Strands lifted and settled against his shoulders with each shift of the tide. Beneath it, his skin held a faint iridescence—subtle at first, but undeniable. Moonlit silver and deep-sea blue shimmered beneath the surface, catching the algae's glow in delicate fractures of light.
And then her gaze fell lower.
His shoulders broke the waterline with unhurried poise, revealing strength so flawless it looked sculpted. Muscles shaped by pressure, not gravity. No softness. No angles that suggested humanity's fragile design. Instead, subtle ridges shimmered just beneath his skin—patterns of fine, overlapping scales so thin they were nearly invisible until the light touched them.
Her mind stuttered. Her heart skipped—and then hammered painfully. Every instinct she had screamed that she was staring at something impossible: something not meant for the world she had come from.
She found her voice again, or something like it. Her lips formed the words even though the water swallowed them. What are you?
As if in answer, he drifted closer.
The motion was fluid—more fluid than anything she'd ever seen. He didn't swim. He slid, letting the water lift him and shape around him like he was part of the tide, not moving through it. His chest rose from the pool fully now, the bioluminescence skimming his skin in patterns that pulsed faintly with each slow breath.
And beneath the surface…
Her stomach dropped.
Something long and powerful curved toward the rock. Not legs. Not anything remotely human. A massive tail swept the water in a slow arc—strong enough that even its lazy motion sent a ripple across the shelf. The fin at its end was dark and translucent, glowing faintly at the edges like a blade dipped in moonlight. Scales shimmered along it in unpredictable patches, throwing fractured light into the surrounding water.
Isla's breath collapsed. She scrambled back again, but the stone gave way to empty water behind her heel, and she froze, forced to choose between falling into the pool or holding her ground.
The creature—man—stilled… and for the first time, his eyes lowered to her throat. To the pearls. To the skin around them. His gaze dragged over her chest, her ribs, her lips—clinical, assessing, but with a sharpness that made heat coil inside her belly despite the cold.
She couldn't read his expression. She didn't know if he was curious or irritated or simply studying the strange half-breathing creature in front of him. But she understood one thing instinctively:
He wasn't afraid of her.
She was the vulnerable thing here.
The wounded, trembling creature pulled out of her world and dropped into his.
The realization hit her like another wave. "Stay back," she whispered again, even though she knew sound was useless. The pressure of the words left her throat with a shiver she couldn't hide.
He tilted his head—slowly, gracefully—and that simple motion made the hair on her arms lift. His hair drifted in sheets behind him, blending into the darkness. His shoulders rolled subtly underwater, adjusting… as though he was preparing to speak.
Isla's pulse thundered in her ears. Panic clawed up her ribs again—sharp, overwhelming, impossible to fight in this place where even breathing wasn't her own anymore.
And then he moved.
A single, smooth glide that erased half the distance between them. His face broke the surface more fully now—sharp cheekbones, a strong jaw, lips so pale they almost seemed carved from sea-glass. And his eyes… his eyes remained fixed on her with an intensity that was almost tactile. Something ancient lived in them. Something that had watched storms and silence and death far longer than humans had learned to speak.
Her hand clamped over her chest. Her trembling fingers dug into her wet skin. "Don't come closer," she mouthed desperately.
He paused, studying the shape of her words.
Then the world shifted.
Not physically. Not visually.
Inside her.
A pressure slid into her thoughts—not painful, but cold. Deliberate. Like a fingertip trailing down the inside of her skull. Isla gasped, slipping back a fraction on the stone. The sensation wasn't touch. It wasn't sound. It wasn't anything she'd ever felt before.
Her breath stuttered—water catching in her chest.
His eyes widened, just slightly, as if confirming some private expectation.
She shook her head violently, water swirling around her cheeks. "Don't—"
But nothing came out.
The attempt only made the pressure deepen.
Then words—not words, but meaning—spread through her mind like a dark tide, slow and inescapable.
You're still alive.
The tone was cool, steady, almost detached.
Isla's back hit the stone wall behind her.
The creature didn't move.
He didn't need to.
His voice was in her head.
And the terror that griped her chest was nothing compared to the realization that followed:
He wasn't speaking to her.
He was inside her.