I ran out of the room and down the corridor, my footsteps echoing too loudly against the stone floors. The air felt thick, heavy in my lungs, like it didn't want me breathing it. I didn't slow down. I didn't think.
I ran.
Out of the house. Out into the cold night. Straight toward the sound I couldn't escape.
The sea.
"Xylan!" Seraphina called after me, her voice sharp with panic. "Xylan, wait!"
I didn't.
My head began to throb almost instantly—a deep, pulsing ache behind my eyes, like something inside me was tightening, winding itself too tight. The pain made my vision blur at the edges, but I pushed through it, teeth clenched, legs burning.
I reached the shore and stopped short.
The sea stretched out before me, vast and endless, silvered by the full moon hanging low in the sky. Waves rolled in slow, steady rhythms, calm enough to look harmless. Too harmless.
I stepped closer until the cold water lapped at my shoes.
"You've taken Hope too!" I shouted, my voice breaking as it tore out of my chest. "Haven't you?"
The words echoed, thin and desperate, swallowed almost immediately by the wind. My throat burned. My voice sounded rough, wrong—like I hadn't used it in a long time.
My eyes felt heavy. Too heavy. Each blink took effort, exhaustion crashing down on me all at once. I hadn't slept. I couldn't remember the last time sleep had come without the sea in it.
"I know you did," I whispered, my voice lower now. "You always do."
The sea didn't answer.
It rolled in gently, waves brushing the shore like nothing was wrong. Like it hadn't stolen anyone. Like it had never taken anything at all—not in the past, not ever.
It looked innocent.
That was the worst part.
A hollow feeling settled in my chest as the truth sank in. Yelling wouldn't change anything. The sea never explained itself. It never apologized.
It just waited.
It was no use.
I turned away slowly, my head spinning, the ache behind my eyes deepening until the world felt tilted, unreal. I took a step back from the water, then another—
"Xylan!"
Seraphina's voice cut through the air, sharp with sudden shock. Then—something else.
Relief.
"She's back!" she shouted. "Xylan—she's back!"
My heart slammed painfully against my ribs.
I spun around and ran.
Up the path. Through the door. Up the stairs two at a time, ignoring the dizziness, ignoring the way my legs threatened to give out beneath me.
I reached her room and stopped.
Hope lay on the bed, blankets pulled loosely around her, chest rising and falling in slow, steady breaths. Her face was pale but calm, lashes resting against her cheeks like nothing had happened. Like she'd just fallen asleep and missed a bad dream.
The curtains fluttered softly in the early morning breeze.
The sky outside was beginning to lighten.
The sun was rising.
At least there was no school tomorrow, I thought distantly, the idea barely registering.
I stepped closer.
That's when I saw it.
A thin strand of seaweed tangled in her hair, dark green against the pillow.
My stomach dropped.
My fingers trembled as I reached out, lifting it carefully, like touching it too roughly might wake something else besides her.
She'd been in the ocean.
There was no denying it.
The sea had taken her.
And this time—
Just this time
It had given her back.