The rain came softly at first—a faint mist, barely more than a chill against her skin. Seraphine barely noticed it. She stood at the bow, her hands still trembling faintly against the railing, her breath shallow. Her eyes remained fixed on the spot where he had disappeared.

  He’s gone.

  The words circled in her mind, but she didn’t believe them. Her knuckles still ached from gripping the railing too hard, her muscles stiff with the lingering tension of what she had seen—what she knew she had seen. No trick of the light or fractured reflection could explain the gleam of his eyes, the slow, fluid rise of his body from the deep, or the unnatural shadow that moved independently of the current.

  She forced a breath into her lungs, trying to steady herself. It wasn’t real. She told herself the lie again, but the salt clung to her lips like a reminder.

  The rain thickened. Tiny droplets kissed her cheeks, sliding down her skin in thin, cool lines. The wind had shifted, turning sharp and unpredictable. It whistled against the sails, the sudden gusts tugging at the rigging with jerking, uneven force.

  The ship’s once gentle sway grew restless.

  Seraphine inhaled deeply, tasting the storm on the wind—the strange, electric bitterness of it. She stared at the horizon. The once pale clouds had blackened into a seamless wall, stretching across the sea like a closing fist. Heavy and bruised, they pressed down upon the water, darkening the surface to ink.

  She turned slightly, glancing toward the crew. They moved with tense, purposeful efficiency, securing lines and tightening the canvas. Their voices, once low murmurs, had sharpened. Even the captain’s commands, usually so measured, were clipped and taut.

  "Shorten the sails!" someone called out.

  The crew scrambled to obey. The canvas groaned against the rising wind, snapping violently with each sudden gust. Two men wrestled with the halyard, their shoulders straining against the wild flapping of the mainsail. The ship jerked violently as the first heavy swell struck the hull.

  Seraphine’s fingers slipped slightly on the wet railing, but she didn’t move. The storm was closing in.

  The sea was no longer calm—it was restless, coiling in slow, deliberate heaves. The waves rolled heavily beneath the ship, thick and black with only the faintest edges of silver where the rain slashed the surface. The familiar rocking motion of the vessel became erratic.

  Still, she didn’t retreat. Her hair clung to her temples, rain sliding down her neck, soaking the linen at her throat. Her cloak dragged heavily against her shoulders, weighed down by the rain, but she barely registered the chill. She stared at the sea, watching for him. For the shadow.

  Her pulse pressed painfully against her throat. She knew she should move, should return below deck before the storm reached its full fury, but her feet were rooted. Her gaze drifted down, scanning the black water, straining to pierce the gloom. She didn’t want to see him again. She didn’t want him to be gone either.

  Thunder cracked overhead. The sound ripped through the thickening air, reverberating through the hull. The ship groaned, shuddering as the wind seized the mast, pulling at it with wild fingers.

  Another wave struck the hull, heavier this time. The ship pitched violently to one side, and she lurched forward. Her palm scraped against the slick wood, fingers slipping as the ship righted itself. Her heart slammed in her chest.

  Get below deck.

  She didn’t move.

  She swallowed against the dryness in her throat and glanced back at the crew. The men were shouting orders now, their voices barely audible over the wailing wind. One sailor clung to the shrouds, his knuckles bone-white, eyes squinting against the rain. They were bracing for it.

  A streak of lightning illuminated the sky, casting the ship in a stark, blinding glare. For a brief moment, the sea turned silver and black, the rain dazzling like shards of glass. Seraphine’s eyes flicked back to the water—and she stilled.

  There.

  She saw him.

  For only a breath, the lightning revealed his form just beyond the waves, half-obscured by the churning sea. His face emerged from the water’s edge, pale and haunting, eyes black as the deep, gleaming with that same unyielding stillness. His hair clung to his face, the tips trailing in the water. The ridges along his arms pulsed faintly, glowing softly for only a heartbeat before the light vanished.

  The darkness returned, erasing him.

  Her breath hitched. Her knuckles blanched as she clung to the railing. He was real. She turned sharply, glancing at the crew. Had they seen?

  No. The storm had their full attention.

  Another wave slammed against the hull, sending a shudder through the deck. The ship groaned, listing slightly before righting itself again. The rain thickened into sheets, heavy and slashing, pelting her exposed skin with needle-like stings. Her cloak was sodden, dragging against her shoulders, slowing her movements.

  She should have gone below deck. But she lingered, her eyes sweeping the water, searching for him again.

  The next wave came without warning.

  It struck the hull broadside with a deafening crash, splitting the air with a hollow, splintering roar. The ship pitched violently beneath her feet. The deck tilted sharply, and Seraphine’s boots skidded across the slick wood. Her fingers clawed for the railing, but the sudden, jarring force loosened her grip.

  For a heartbeat, she was weightless.

  Her stomach lurched violently as the world tipped. The spray of the sea rose up to meet her, sharp and frigid. The water hit her like stone, knocking the breath from her chest in a harsh, shocking burst. The cold stole everything—the warmth from her limbs, the air from her lungs. The salt seared her throat as she gasped, the icy burn cutting like glass. She thrashed wildly, her arms flailing against the current, boots heavy with water, pulling her down. The rain battered the surface above her, muffled and distorted, but she could still hear the ship—a distant roar, already slipping away.

  She kicked hard, breaking the surface for a moment, her mouth open in a sharp, desperate gasp. Water choked her throat, her eyes stinging. The sky was nothing but a blur of black rain and pale streaks of lightning. She fought, her limbs sluggish against the weight of her sodden cloak. She kicked again, but the current was faster, pulling her away from the ship. She screamed, but the wind stole the sound.

  The cold burned deeper, her limbs growing heavy. She was sinking faster, the weight of her clothes dragging her down. Her legs tangled in the fabric of her skirts, the wet linen clinging to her ankles like a snare.

  The narrative has been stolen; if detected on Amazon, report the infringement.

  Her arms flailed, but she was falling—falling into the blackness.

  No. No, no, no.

  Her pulse hammered against her ribs, terror strangling her breath. She twisted, gasping for air, her chest tightening with panic. The sea poured into her throat, brine and darkness, stinging her lungs. She kicked frantically, fighting against the invisible hand pulling her deeper.

  Then she saw him. Beneath her, rising through the gloom. His eyes gleamed black, unblinking in the storm-lit water. His body moved with an unnatural grace, slipping upward with the easy, fluid precision of the current itself.

  And he was coming for her.

  Her limbs slowed. Her head swam. She sank deeper, her lungs burning, her vision darkening.

  The last thing she saw was his hand reaching for her, the black water swirling around him.

  And then the sea swallowed her whole.

  The soft hush of waves stirred Seraphine from sleep. Warmth pooled over her skin, the air thick with salt and the scent of wet earth. She shifted, sand clinging to her arms as she pushed herself upright. The world around her felt dreamlike—lush ferns and gnarled roots framed a sheltered inlet where the water shimmered with silver light. The sea met the forest in a quiet embrace, forming a place untouched by the outside world.

  And there, near the fire’s glow, was him.

  He knelt by a small flame, the crackling fire casting flickering shadows on his features. He worked with a strange grace, his long fingers carefully preparing something—a bowl, perhaps, filled with something she couldn’t quite make out. His dark hair, damp from the storm, hung loosely around his face. He moved in a way that was both unnervingly fluid and predatory—like a creature made for the water.

  Her gaze dropped to his neck, where faint, almost imperceptible gills fluttered just below the surface of his skin. She blinked, unsure if the firelight was playing tricks on her eyes. But no, they were there—small, delicate slits that seemed to pulse with life. He was not an ordinary man. Not by a long shot.

  His skin, too, seemed different—slicker, almost like water couldn’t touch it the way it should. She noticed how his movements seemed to glide, as though every step was calculated for maximum efficiency, and yet there was something hauntingly graceful about the way he moved. It was as if his body had been designed for the fluidity of the ocean, not the rigidity of land. His shadow, too, seemed to stretch and ripple independently of his form, as though it had a will of its own.

  She didn’t know what to make of him, but one thing was clear—he wasn’t human in the way she understood it.

  He wasn’t looking at her.

  For a long moment, she studied him, torn between the magnetic pull of curiosity and the anxiety that gripped her chest. She had been rescued from the storm, pulled out of the chaos by someone who now seemed as much a part of the sea as the waves themselves. Her breath caught at the thought of his strength, his touch—how effortlessly he had swept her away, how he seemed to carry the weight of the world without breaking a sweat.

  But she couldn’t stay here.

  Her people needed her. The war, the castle, the whispers—they were still out there, and the weight of them pressed on her chest like an anchor. She had a duty, a responsibility to her kingdom, to those who were counting on her. Even now, as she sat in this strange, unearthly sanctuary, she could not forget that. The weight of her obligations pulled at her like the tide, dragging her back into the storm of her own making.

  Seraphine pressed her fingers into the cool earth beneath her. She should leave. She had to leave. She couldn’t stay here, trapped in this place where time seemed to have no meaning, where the air hung thick with uncertainty.

  Her gaze flickered back to him, studying the way his body moved as he worked—quick, efficient, but undeniably captivating. His ribs expanded subtly with each breath, the air seeming to fill him in a way that felt...otherworldly. She watched as his fingers brushed across the bowl, his movements slow, deliberate, like a predator sensing its prey. And for a brief moment, she realized that the way he moved was not just graceful—it was dangerous. Controlled. He could kill her before she even had the chance to blink.

  But it wasn’t just fear that gripped her now.

  Her pulse quickened. The thought of leaving was more urgent now. She could feel it—a sense of suffocation, of being trapped. She wasn’t just afraid of him. She was afraid of staying here, of losing herself in whatever spell he seemed to have cast over her. His presence was overwhelming, pulling at her in ways she couldn’t understand.

  Slowly, she shifted, careful not to disturb the quiet. Her feet met the cool stone beneath the sand, and she stood, moving toward the edge of the clearing. Every step felt deliberate, as though she were walking on the edge of something precarious. She would leave. She could leave. She had done harder things before. She just had to be quick, be silent, and then...

  “Not so fast.”

  She froze.

  One moment, he was near the fire; the next, his hand was on her arm, pulling her back toward him with an effortless motion. She gasped, her heart leaping into her throat as he yanked her toward him. Her body reacted without thought, her pulse hammering in her ears, and before she could even comprehend what had happened, she was right back where she started.

  His grip was unyielding. His fingers dug into her arm with an almost frightening force, but there was no malice in it—just a quiet, absolute control. She pulled against him, but he didn’t budge.

  "Let go," she snapped, the words sharp but tinged with something else. Fear. Frustration. Something darker that she wasn’t ready to acknowledge.

  His eyes, dark and unreadable, met hers. His gaze was so intense, so consuming, that she felt as if she were being pulled into him, drowning in the depth of his stare. He said nothing, but his eyes spoke volumes—something deep, ancient, and predatory that rattled her to her core.

  "You can’t leave," he murmured, his voice a low hum that reverberated in her chest, like the pull of the tide. He didn’t need to move; he was simply there, a force of nature. His grip remained firm, steady, like the storm that had brought her here.

  Her mind raced. She could feel the weight of her duty pressing at her chest like a leaden weight. The war, her people, everything she had fought for—it was all still out there. But here, with him, in this strange, primal place, the pull to stay was strong. Almost too strong.

  "I have to," she said, her voice trembling more than she intended. "I have to go back. My people need me. The war—"

  "You think you can outrun me?" His words were quiet, but they dripped with something darker, something she couldn’t quite place. His fingers brushed against her wrist, and a shock of heat surged through her, making her skin flush.

  She swallowed hard. “I have to,” she repeated, her voice a whisper now. "I don’t have a choice."

  His gaze softened for the briefest of moments, but the tension didn’t lift. Instead, it thickened, pulling tighter around them. He exhaled slowly, his breath warm against her skin. He didn’t loosen his grip, but he didn’t tighten it either. It was as if he were waiting for her to say something more, something he wasn’t sure he wanted to hear.

  A strange silence hung between them.

  "You really think you can run from me?" His voice was quieter now, almost a challenge. His eyes narrowed, searching hers for something, a flicker of something hidden that she couldn’t quite name.

  Seraphine stood there, frozen, her chest tight with the weight of her own choices. Her pulse thrummed in her ears, and she couldn’t decide if it was the fear of him or the pull of something deeper that made her hesitate.

  “Then run,” he said, almost too casually.

  With a fluid motion, he released her. The instant his hand was gone, she stood there, rooted to the spot, unable to take the first step toward freedom. The moment of release felt like a trap—a quiet, insidious kind of control.

  He took a step back, his eyes never leaving hers. His lips parted slightly, but no words came. The tension between them felt as sharp as a blade.

  For a long, breathless moment, neither of them moved.

  Then, slowly, he turned back to the fire, his figure a shadow against the glow. He didn’t speak again, but the silence between them was thick with questions neither of them could answer.

  The sea whispered on, the cave holding the secrets of both their worlds.