Page 25 of Siren Problems

LUNA

T he sea’s growl is louder tonight.

There’s something feral in the way the wind bites at my cheeks, salty and sharp, like it’s trying to warn me away from what I’m about to do. Too bad for it—I’ve always had a problem with authority. Especially when that authority is a pissed-off ocean and a moon that’s too bright for its own good.

The supermoon casts silver shadows over the sand, turning the beach into something from a fever dream. Waves pound the shoreline like war drums, and somewhere in the middle of it, I’m standing in thigh-deep water with a relic in one hand and my heart in the other.

"You're insane, Luna!" Kai had shouted before I left the shack. "There’s no proof this’ll even work!"

I turned back, only once. "Proof’s overrated. Besides, since when did we need permission to do the impossible?"

Now, I’m alone. Well—me, the crashing tide, and the ghosts of every bad decision I’ve made in the last three months.

I’ve got my boots buried in the wet sand, soaked to the knees, the chill creeping up like a dare.

Mira’s relics are strapped to my belt, my custom chant carved into the slip of sea parchment tied to my wrist. The air tastes like static and old magic.

I draw a breath that rattles in my ribs and lift my arms. The chant rolls out of me like it’s always been there, waiting just under the surface.

"By moon’s command and sea’s deep heart?—

Unbind the voice, let fate restart?—"

The ocean hisses. The relics spark.

I keep going, louder now, the words vibrating in my bones.

"Where love was crushed and vows undone?—

Let storm and song restore the one?—"

The wind howls, but I don’t stop.

"Let him be free!"

And then—I hear it.

Not a crash of thunder. Not the roar of waves. But a note.

Low. Haunting. Carved out of centuries of silence.

I turn.

He’s there.

Calder stands at the edge of the surf like a shadow peeled out of myth—dripping wet, shoulders squared, eyes locked on mine. His shirt is half torn, hair wild from the wind, and his mouth—God, his mouth—is open in a note so pure it cuts the air like glass.

He’s singing.

Calder Thorne is singing.

The sound of it tears through me, achingly beautiful and so alive I forget the cold, the ritual, everything.

He walks toward me, each step a vow. His voice threads through the chant I started, weaving new magic into the old bones of the spell. And I can feel it—can feel it—rising all around us like a second tide.

Magic pulses in the sand. The relics flare.

He reaches me, still singing, and grabs my hand. His skin is warm, burning hot even through the cold surf.

“I couldn’t let you do this alone,” he murmurs, breaking the song only to speak.

“Good,” I say, my voice cracking. “’Cause I wasn’t gonna let you get away with leaving me behind.”

A surge of water crashes around us, but we stand firm. Calder closes his eyes and sings again, louder now. The chant bends to his voice, twisting upward into something wild and holy and free .

The sky splits.

The supermoon gleams like a promise overhead.

Light. Not white, not gold, but the kind of light you feel , like warm breath or laughter through tears. It explodes out of the relics, pours from the sea, wraps around Calder like a ribbon and snaps.

And I hear it.

A break. A shatter .

The curse is gone.

He stumbles, breath heaving, eyes wide. “Luna?—”

I kiss him before he can say anything else. Hard, fast, terrified it’s all a dream.

He kisses me back like it’s not.

The ground trembles under our feet, the sea suddenly enraged—as if the very magic we’ve stirred has teeth and a temper. Water explodes around us, a surge of energy lashing out from the altar where the relics gleam like furious stars.

“Shit,” I gasp, grabbing Calder’s hand tighter. “This isn’t the calm-after-the-storm part, is it?”

“No,” he growls, voice barely audible over the screaming wind, “this is the part where it fights back.”

A column of seawater rises beside us, crashing in on itself with a roar.

Lightning forks through the sky like the ocean gods are pissed we woke them from a two-century nap.

The chant stutters on my tongue, but Calder’s voice doesn’t falter.

His song rises again—raw, commanding, steeped in something ancient and heartbreakingly human.

Like he’s daring the storm to take him and finish what the curse started.

And for a second, I think it might.

But then I feel it—something inside me surging, a deeper note thrumming against my ribs like the pulse of the tide itself. I grab hold of it. I let it carry me.

I throw my head back and sing—not words, not even notes, just feeling. My voice weaves around Calder’s, tangling with it, lifting it. It’s not perfect. It’s real .

The sea responds.

A vortex of water launches into the air between us, spinning mad with light and sound. Mira’s relics levitate from the altar, caught in the storm, orbiting us like possessed moons. I don't even flinch when they hover just inches from my head. I trust this. I trust him .

The chant and the song converge. The vibrations around us shift—less violent, more intent, like the magic’s trying to decide if we’re worthy.

“Don’t stop!” I shout, voice hoarse, reaching for Calder’s other hand. “Don’t you dare stop!”

He grits his teeth, his grip crushing mine, and sings louder. The note rips out of him like it’s tearing something free from his bones. I echo him, our voices now one tide pulling the whole damn world into its undertow.

CRACK.

The sound is deafening, the kind of sound that doesn’t just echo—it etches itself into the world. And then the light.

Every color and none. Seafoam and silver. It bursts out from the altar, from the relics, from us , swallowing everything in a burst of clarity that tastes like salt and grief and relief .

When the light fades, everything is still.

The wind’s gone.

The sea is gentle, lapping at our knees like it’s trying to apologize for the tantrum. Mira’s relics clatter gently onto the wet sand, now just trinkets again.

Calder breathes like he’s never had air before. His eyes find mine, wide and wet.

“It’s gone,” he says, like he can’t believe it. “Luna... I’m free.”

I can’t speak. I just crash into him, arms wrapped tight, laughing and crying into his chest while he buries his face in my hair.

“I told you,” I choke out, “you don’t have to save yourself alone.”

“No,” he murmurs, holding me like the sea might try to take me back. “Not anymore.”