Page 6 of Siren Problems

CALDER

T he ocean screams before it splits.

I feel it in the marrow of my spine, a vibration too deep for human instruments but loud enough to rattle my ribs. The ley line convulses, sharp and hot—like a nerve snapping. The moment the surge hits, I drop the fishing line I’ve been pretending to care about and bolt barefoot across the shore.

It’s not a storm surge. It’s something older . A seaquake.

And Luna’s in the water.

I dive without hesitation.

The tide fights me, angry and unfamiliar. The currents twist like they’re trying to hide something, like they’re pushing me away from her. But I know this stretch. I know the rock shelves, the crevices that splinter off toward the altar’s edge. I kick hard, eyes open against the salt.

There. Flash of red wetsuit. Hair floating like seaweed. She’s caught in the vortex of a ley rift, tangled in the magical aftershock like a doll caught in a drain.

She’s not moving.

No.

I reach her, arm looping under hers, and pull with everything I’ve got. The current clings, electric and heavy, and for one breathless second I feel it: the altar stirring beneath us. Watching.

Then we break free.

I surface with her limp against me, gasping as the water flattens into silence. The seaquake’s passed, but its echo buzzes in the air, unnatural and sharp-edged.

She coughs hard, sputters, starts to breathe.

I carry her to shore anyway.

She’s conscious by the time I drop her onto the sand, which is good. Because it means I get to yell.

“What the hell were you thinking?”

Luna blinks up at me, soaked and coughing, hair matted to her face. “I— ow —didn’t think it was that deep.”

“No,” I snap. “You didn’t think at all.”

“I was just getting a reading. The scanner went nuts?—”

“You’re lucky the only thing that went nuts wasn’t your lungs. That ley rift could’ve crushed you. Or worse.”

She tries to sit up. “Thanks for the rescue, but I don’t need a lecture?—”

“You’re not listening.”

“No, you’re just talking at me like I’m some kind of reckless intern!”

I step back, shaking, hands clenched.

She doesn’t understand.

She almost touched the edge of it. The altar’s influence. If it had opened more fully... she wouldn’t be here. Not whole. Not herself .

Luna stands, wobbling a little, brushing sand off her arms. “I get it. You’re mad I came near your secret sea spot. You want me to stay out of your cursed little cove?—”

“It’s not about you. ”

She stops.

“Then what is it?” she asks, voice soft now. “Why does this whole place twist whenever I get close?”

I can’t tell her.

I can’t tell her that the altar recognizes her. That her presence isn’t random—it’s reactive. The same way it once reacted to me, all those years ago. The same way it punished me when I broke the rules.

“It’s old magic,” I say instead. “It’s not meant to be disturbed.”

She tilts her head. “And yet, here you are. Living on top of it. Why?”

I open my mouth. Close it. The words stick.

Because I deserve it.

Because it’s the only place I feel the weight of what I lost.

Because I’m afraid to go too far, and lose the last piece of who I was.

I grit my teeth. “Because someone has to make sure no one else wakes it up.”

She studies me. Her gaze isn’t hostile now. It’s sharp, yes. But not angry. Not scared.

Just... curious.

Again.

And that terrifies me more than the altar ever could.

“I’m fine, by the way,” she mutters. “Thanks for saving my dumb, magical-assaulted life.”

I sigh. “You shouldn’t have been out there alone.”

“Yeah, well,” she says, picking up her half-broken scanner, “neither should ancient sea altars with anger management issues.”

I don’t laugh.

But something in my chest loosens. Slightly.

We walk back to the cottage in silence.

And for once, the tide doesn’t fight us.

The knock on my door comes less than an hour after I get Luna settled back inside. She insisted she didn’t need help. I insisted I didn’t care. Mira gave us both a weird look and wandered off muttering something about ley harmonics and trauma bonding.

Now I’ve got two council envoys on my porch and a headache blooming behind my eyes.

“Calder Thorne,” says the older one—Rin, a kelp-blooded seer with eyes like polished obsidian. She’s flanked by Juno, the elven tide-lawyer who once tried to sue a selkie for identity theft.

“Something break underwater?” I ask flatly.

“The altar surged,” Rin says. “Three ripples across the coast and a minor rift detected inland. Your ward failed. Again.”

I clench my jaw. “I handled it.”

Juno steps forward. “You handled it after a human nearly got pulled into the veil. The town's protections are fragile, and this Leypoint isn't just yours anymore.”

They exchange a look. And I know what’s coming before Rin even opens her mouth.

“You’ll be partnering with the human,” she says. “Her readings are clearer than any council data. Until this wave stabilizes, you're both required to investigate ley flux events together.”

“No,” I say immediately.

“It’s not a request,” Juno says.

I scowl. “She’s reckless. She doesn’t understand what she’s poking at.”

“Then teach her, ” Rin says simply.

I want to argue. Gods, I want to slam the door and let the sea swallow everything.

But if I refuse... they’ll pull me from the cove. And if they get curious enough, they’ll unseal the altar themselves.

That can’t happen.

So I nod. Barely. Just enough.

The council disperses.

And I sit on my porch, hands curled into fists, already dreading the next time I have to meet her eyes.