Page 24 of Siren Problems

CALDER

I feel it in my chest before I even hit the shore.

Not pain. Not pressure.

Something missing.

The current stutters near the cove like it’s been clipped, interrupted. As if some part of the magic holding me down has... shifted.

I stumble through the foam, boots sinking in the slush of half-tide muck. A gull screeches overhead—too close, too loud. My balance falters. Something’s wrong with the ley flow. Not broken, but changed.

I’ve felt this before, once—long ago—when the curse first wrapped around my throat. When it silenced my voice and sang a thousand lies into my blood.

But now? It’s humming.

Soft. Wild. Human.

I round the bend of the bluff just as Nerida’s translucent form rises from the seafoam. Her hair whips like a banner in the wind.

She doesn’t waste time.

“Your human has rewritten the ritual,” she says. Her voice is low, almost reverent. “With emotion. With truth.”

“What does that mean?”

“She turned down the grant.”

I blink, as if that’ll clear the absurdity from the air.

“No.” My voice is a growl. “She wouldn’t do that. She—she fought for that funding. She needs it.”

“She sent back the stipend. Burned the fine print. Sent her thesis in with every mention of you stripped out. You’ve been wiped from the academic record, Calder.”

“That’s suicide.” My heart thunders. “That’s her career. That’s everything.”

Nerida cocks her head. “She chose you. ”

And that does something brutal to me.

I turn from her, nearly tripping over my own boots in the sand. “She shouldn’t have.”

“But she did.”

I squeeze my eyes shut, pulse pounding in my throat. It’s too much. I wanted her gone. Safe. Out of reach. Not because I didn’t care—but because I do. Because letting her near the broken pieces means she might try to hold them, and if she drops them... they’ll cut her to the bone.

I’ve destroyed people I loved before.

And I swore I’d never let that happen again.

“Where is she?” I rasp.

“Where you left her,” Nerida says. “At the altar. Rebuilding what you wouldn’t face.”

I don’t thank her. I just run.

By the time I find her, the wind has picked up. The tide roars like it’s fighting to be heard.

Luna stands near the circle drawn in salt and charcoal, her hair whipping around her like flame. The wind catches the pages she’s scattered—scrawled notes, spell fragments, runes etched in thick ink. A pulse stone glows faintly at her side, tuned to her heartbeat.

She doesn’t look up.

“You’re late,” she says flatly.

“I didn’t ask for this.”

She snorts. “And I didn’t ask to fall for a broody sea demon with abandonment issues. Life’s full of little surprises.”

My chest clenches. “You gave it all up.”

“Yup.”

“The grant?—”

“Gone.”

“Your thesis?—”

“Torched.”

My hands fist at my sides. “Why the hell would you do that?”

She finally looks at me then, her eyes full of fury and grief and some deeper kind of truth.

“Because you matter more than a fucking footnote in a magical journal.”

The wind howls. The sea seethes. But she’s louder.

“I know you’re scared. I know you think loving someone means you’ll ruin them. But newsflash, Calder— I’m not afraid of you. I’m afraid of losing you to your own damn self-loathing.”

“Luna—”

“You think hiding is noble? It’s not. It’s cowardice dressed in self-sacrifice. And I see right through it.”

“I don’t want to hurt you.”

“Then don’t.”

I flinch like she slapped me.

Because it’s that simple.

Because she’s not demanding answers or promises—just presence.

I step forward, slowly. “How do I just be... this?”

“Try,” she says. “Start with here. Start with now. ”

The pulse stone flares.

She holds it between us like a tether.

“I wrote something,” she says softly. “A chant. But not for the council. Not for the books. For you.”

She presses it into my hand. “It’s made of truth. Of memory. Of choice.”

I stare at the stone, then back at her. My throat tightens.

“You’re asking me to let go of everything.”

She nods. “So I can hold something. ”

A beat of silence.

Then another.

And finally, I say the words I’ve been terrified of:

“I’m scared.”

She takes my face in her hands.

“So am I.”

Then she kisses me—soft and fierce and terrifyingly gentle.

And I let her.

Because for the first time in centuries... I want to stay.

“I’m not some broken myth you can glue back together with poetry,” I snap, voice low and rough.

“You think that’s what I’m doing?” she fires back, stepping into my space like she’s daring me to push her away. “You think this is pity?”

“You threw away your career—your future —for what? For me?”

“For us, you stubborn, emotionally-stunted bastard!”

The air crackles.

I step back, hand clenching. “There is no ‘us.’ There’s you, and your obsession with fixing things, and me—one bad breath away from breaking everything.”

Her hands tremble at her sides, but she doesn’t flinch.

“You think I haven’t seen what you carry? You think I don’t know what fear looks like? I’m not doing this because I think I can save you, Calder.”

Her voice drops to a whisper.

“I’m trying to stand with you. ”

The silence afterward is thunderous.

I stare at her, throat aching, wind cold against my skin.

“Luna…”

She shakes her head, blinking fast. “You don’t have to say anything. But I’ll be at that altar when the tide turns. Whether you come or not... that’s up to you.”

She turns before I can speak.

The wind swallows her footsteps as she walks away.

And I just stand there, shaking, heart cracked wide.

“I’ll try,” I say too late, to no one.

But I mean it.

If I can find my voice—if I can still choose, I’ll meet her.

At the altar.

Where fate waits to be rewritten.