Page 4 of Siren Problems

CALDER

I dream of drowning.

Again.

Salt fills my lungs like molten stone. My body doesn’t sink—it fractures . The pressure of the deep pressing down, endless, ancient. Somewhere below, something sings. Not with words. With want . And I—gods, I answer.

My voice breaks the water like thunder.

Then I wake, sharp and choking, half-tangled in the sweat-damp sheets.

It’s still dark. But not silent.

There’s a pulse in the air—too soft for normal ears, too bright for anyone who isn’t me. I sit up, already knowing I’ve made a mistake. My throat’s dry, raw like I’ve been screaming.

I sang . Out loud. In my sleep.

And worse—someone heard it.

I feel her before I see her. Down near the shore, standing with her back to the moon, all shadows and wind-whipped hair. She’s motionless, like the rocks around her, except for the scanner in her hand that’s blinking like mad.

Luna.

Shit.

I don’t think. I’m down the stairs, bare feet slamming against the wood, storming out the side door before reason catches up.

She doesn’t turn when I approach, but I know she heard me—every step, every breath.

Her aura’s sparking all over the damn place, full of confusion, awe, and too much knowing.

“You shouldn’t be out here,” I say, low and hard.

She flinches slightly but doesn’t move. “You were singing.”

I stop, just out of reach. “You imagined it.”

She turns then, slow and sharp, eyes glowing under the moon like she pulled the truth from its hiding place and isn’t giving it back.

“My scanner says otherwise.”

I glance at the thing in her hand, buzzing softly, little crystals lighting up like fireworks. Dammit.

“What did you hear?” I ask.

Luna folds her arms, chin tilting like she’s daring me to lie.

“It wasn’t a song,” she says. “It was... a call . Like the ocean answering itself. I’ve been recording ley pulses for weeks and I’ve never heard anything like that. And it came from you. ”

Her voice isn’t accusatory. It’s curious. Too curious.

I shake my head, fists clenching. “You didn’t hear anything.”

“You’re scared,” she says softly.

I stiffen.

“No,” I snap. “I’m cautious . There’s a difference.”

She steps closer. Barefoot, hair wild, face open and unafraid. How the hell is she not afraid?

“You’re cursed, aren’t you?”

It hits me like a slap. The word. The truth in it.

I want to lie. Gods, I want to bark at her, chase her off like all the others. But the silence between us is heavy now, full of moonlight and half-buried ghosts.

So I say nothing.

Luna exhales slowly, watching me. Her face shifts—not pity, not judgment. Just... understanding. It’s worse. It cracks something in me.

“I’ve been down there,” she says. “Near the altar. The ley lines bend like they’re afraid of it. But you—you walk near it every day. You live next to it.”

I swallow hard. “You don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“Then tell me. ”

She doesn’t blink. Doesn’t move.

I grit my teeth, turn away. “Go back inside, Luna.”

She steps forward. Her hand brushes my arm, light as a wave.

“I’m not trying to expose you. I just want to understand what’s hurting this place.”

“It’s not the place that’s cursed,” I say, voice low. “It’s me.”

She freezes. Just for a breath.

“Who did it?”

I laugh. Short, bitter. “A mistake.”

“You?”

“Someone I trusted. Once.”

The ocean crashes against the rocks like it’s punctuating the conversation. I feel its pull in my ribs. Old magic. Old pain.

Luna says nothing. She just stands beside me, eyes cast out to the water, quiet now.

“I can’t sing,” I say, finally. “Not like I used to. If I do... the magic comes back.”

“And that’s bad?”

“It’s binding. Siren song isn’t just sound—it’s power. It commands, consumes. I was trained to use it as a prince. But when I used it to save someone... I broke the rules. And she took my voice in return.”

Luna doesn’t gasp. Doesn’t recoil. She just nods slowly, like it makes too much sense.

“You sang in your sleep.”

I close my eyes. “That means the curse is unraveling.”

“Isn’t that good?”

“No.” My voice breaks a little. “It’s worse. If it comes loose without control—without the ritual—it’ll take everything with it.”

The tide pulls hard, and I step back, away from the surf, from her.

“Then let’s find a way to control it,” she says.

I stare at her. This girl with scanners and sarcasm and salt on her skin like it belongs there. She doesn’t understand what she’s offering.

Or maybe she does.

Either way, I don’t trust the way my heart stutters.

“Go to bed,” I mutter.

She rolls her eyes. “You’re such a drama queen.”

“I’m serious.”

“So am I. You think I’m gonna just ignore a walking sea hazard singing ballads into the ley stream?”

She turns to leave. Pauses.

“You’ve got a good voice,” she says over her shoulder.

Then she’s gone.

And I’m left standing in the cove, afraid I’ve already said too much.

She lingers near the path, hand curled around her scanner like it might still spill answers.

I should walk away. I need to. But I don’t.

Instead, I stand there like an idiot, skin still humming with the remnants of song, throat raw with the echo of what slipped out. Her eyes never leave mine—steady, probing, not prying like the council used to, or ravenous like the press back when I was still royalty. This is different.

She’s watching like I’m a question she wants to ask.

And worse... like she’s already started to care about the answer.

“You heard wrong,” I say, quieter now. Flat. Final. “It was the tide. You’re not used to the way the rocks echo.”

Luna raises a brow. “That’s your excuse?”

“It’s the truth.”

“No, it’s not.” Her voice softens. “But it’s the only one you’re willing to tell me.”

That gets under my skin. Not because she’s wrong, but because it’s too damn accurate . She turns away finally, but not before giving me one last look—slow, searching, unreadable.

Wonder.

Not suspicion.

Not fear.

Just... wonder.

And I haven’t seen someone look at me like that in a very, very long time.

It unsettles me more than her scanner ever could.