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And yet, I’m immobile.

I’m held in place, chains wrapped around me in three different places.

I look down to see the inky depths of the ocean below.

I look up and see nothing but the belly of the dark ship.

I’ve been chained to a piece of wood that sticks down at the bottom of the vessel, one that moves back and forth every now and then. When it does, the ship corrects course and moves in that direction.

Now what?

The last thing I remember was that blond man, perhaps the captain, hitting me, and now I’m here. Why would he do this?

Perhaps he thinks I need to be in water to survive, and both the glass boxes have been shattered. Maybe he thought tying me to the bottom of the ship was the best way to keep me captive until the ship gets to its final destination.

But where is that? Where are they taking me? What happens when I get hungry? Without being able to use my arms, I can’t catch any fish while I’m tied down here. If they’re going to be at sea for weeks before they reach port, I’ll starve to death.

A better death than the one you would have had up there, I tell myself, my heart sinking at that last image of Vialana holding her own heart in her hand. At least here, I am safe and alive—for now. It’s hard to say what could happen in the future. Maybe there will be a chance at escape when they swim down to loosen me—after all, they’ll be in my world for once.

I try to keep that thought going.

I have to have hope.

There were times during these last few years where I thought all hope was lost. I believed that nothing mattered anymore, and I would do anything to escape my battered and bruised heart. I really thought death would be the perfect escape, a slow sink into oblivion.

But the moment that net fell, I felt the fight return, the fight for the spirit, the soul, the fight for life—not just survival, but a life worth living and thriving in.

I feel that fight start to creep in. Maybe it’s a pointless cause, seeing as I’m strapped to the bottom of a ship as it heads somewhere to do something awful with me, but I won’t let these men take me.

I won’t let them break me.

I’m the only one allowed to break myself.

And I don’t feel like falling apart anymore.

I don’t know how many days pass. It’s impossible to tell time with the dark ship blocking out the surface. The ship is constantly crashing into the waves above, which makes me think we’re still in a storm. Every now and then, we’ll pass by an iceberg, the bright blue ice shooting down into the depths, always so beautiful and eerie. Sometimes, whales or dolphins will pass, and I’ve reached out to them with a plea for help.

But there’s nothing a whale or dolphin can do to help me. They can’t undo the chains—one tried briefly but wasn’t able to undo the lock with their nose—and they are naturally wary of people, especially people who would chain a Syren to their ship. Only the giant black-and-white dolphins with the tall dorsal fins would be able to damage the boat, but I haven’t seen any of them.

At one point, I think I even see a shark, but I don’t dare call out to it. I would be easy prey for one of them since I can’t fight back. Besides, it might be a dream. Everything starts to fade into a dark haze, a half-awake, half-asleep nightmare. I’m now used to the water constantly streaming past my face and body, the occasional movements of the wood turning the ship. I want to keep the fight alive, but I feel myself weaken with each moment.

More time passes, drifts by with the ice.

Then, out of the darkness, I hear a familiar voice, one I never expected to hear again.

There is the ship, the voice says, low and deep and inhuman.

The voice of a shark.

Nill, I think to myself, opening my eyes to the dark seas. When we left Limonos, Maren’s shark, Nill, stayed behind to wait for her. He was never my shark, but he was part of the family, and it hurt to leave him behind, even though he insisted.

But Limonos was in a whole other ocean, one where icebergs didn’t exist, where the water was warm and full of bright coral and colorful fish. That’s where Nill belonged, not here in the icy darkness of the southern seas.

The rudder, the voice says. I see something attached to the rudder.

I strain my eyes, trying to see through the murky water constantly churned up by the swells and currents. Someone is talking; I know I can hear them. Perhaps another shark?

This time, I am asking for food.