Page 7 of Siren Problems

LUNA

O f all the places I imagined being stuck with Calder Thorne, the damp, crab-smelling tide shack at the ass-end of Lowtide Bluffs is not at the top of my fantasy list.

“Remind me again,” I say, wringing out the hem of my soaked sweatshirt, “why you didn’t mention the roof leaks?”

Calder grunts.

Which is about par for the course since we got stranded here twenty minutes ago, thanks to a freak storm surge that slammed into the cove like Poseidon sneezed. My gear’s fine. My nerves, not so much. There’s only one bench, and he’s on it, brooding like it’s his hobby.

“You okay there, broody McTidepool?”

He doesn’t even flinch. Just keeps staring at the wall like it personally offended him.

“I’m talking to you,” I say, flopping onto an overturned crate. “This is the part where you engage in basic human interaction.”

He exhales through his nose, finally turning his head. “I didn’t ask for this.”

“Oh good, a full sentence,” I say. “I was worried I’d have to start using interpretive dance.”

His eyes narrow. “You’re not funny.”

“Not to you,” I shoot back, “but my audience is very specific. Mostly Mira.”

At that, his lips twitch. Barely. But it’s something.

I pull my damp hair into a bun and eye the storm battering the shack windows. The wind howls, waves crashing hard enough to shake the floorboards. The ley lines are buzzing again. Not dangerous—but alert. Like they know something’s off.

“I could’ve gone back to the lab,” I say. “But nooo. The magical council wants to play team-building with the human and the cursed sea prince.”

He stiffens at that. Bingo.

“You’re not cursed,” I add quickly. “Well, you are. But not in the villain sense. More like a tragic Disney subplot.”

“Stop talking.”

I grin. “Make me.”

Calder stands up so suddenly I almost fall off my crate. He crosses the room in two steps and looms over me—arms crossed, shirt still half unbuttoned from our ocean misadventure earlier. There’s a scratch on his collarbone that’s already fading. Of course it is.

“I don’t want you near the altar again,” he says, low.

I stand up too. We’re toe to toe now, the storm still raging behind us, but it’s this moment that feels electric.

“Too bad,” I say, calm and clear. “I’m not here for your comfort. I’m here for answers.”

“Some things aren’t meant to be unearthed.”

“And some people shouldn’t live in houses made of secrets and salt.”

We stare at each other.

His jaw flexes. “You’re reckless.”

I smirk. “You’re emotionally constipated.”

He looks like he wants to say something else—something real —but he doesn’t. Instead, he turns, runs a hand through his wet hair, and mutters, “You don’t get it.”

“Then help me get it, ” I say, voice softening. “You don’t have to carry whatever this is by yourself.”

He freezes.

“I do,” he says, after a long beat. “Because if I don’t, people get hurt.”

The air shifts. My breath catches.

And for once, I don’t make a joke.

Instead, I sit back down and let the silence settle between us like something holy. Outside, the rain starts to slow. The tide begins to retreat. But inside, the tension’s just starting to pull tight.

Calder sits again too, this time a little closer.

Not touching.

Not yet.

But closer.

And I realize I’m not trying to crack his shell anymore.

I want to be let in.

The storm eases, the tide pulling back like it’s holding its breath. The shack groans as the wind quiets, and I exhale with it, muscles finally unclenching. Outside, waves slosh against the rocks in a tired rhythm. Not angry anymore. Just restless.

Inside, the quiet between us stretches. Not awkward. Just... full.

I glance at Calder.

He’s leaning forward, elbows on his knees, hands clasped. His brows are knit like he’s deep in thought or trying not to say something dangerous. Water beads on his jawline, catching the flicker of the emergency lantern like drops of moonlight.

“You always like being this dramatic?” I ask gently.

He huffs out a breath that might be a laugh. “You think I’m dramatic?”

“You make storm clouds look subtle.”

He doesn’t rise to the bait. Just glances sideways at me with something almost— almost —like amusement.

“I’m not trying to be a mystery,” he says after a moment. “I just... don’t know how to stop being one.”

That lands deeper than I expect.

I shift, resting my arms on my knees. “I get it. I’ve been chasing magic since I was fourteen, and I still don’t know if I’m trying to understand it or prove to everyone else that I’m not crazy.”

He turns his head toward me, curiosity flickering in those sea-glass eyes. “You think people think you’re crazy?”

“People don’t say it,” I reply, “but you start talking about ancient sea energy and aura resonances in polite academic circles and you’ll be amazed how fast someone offers you a therapy crystal and a transfer request form.”

He actually smiles. It’s small, quick, and it vanishes like mist—but I see it.

And damn it, I like it.

I lean back against the crate wall, watching shadows dance across the floor. “You know, for someone who hates talking, you’re weirdly good at it when you stop being an emotionally fortified shipwreck.”

“Maybe I just don’t like most people.”

“Lucky me, then.”

The silence that follows is different. Charged.

Not the storm.

Not danger.

Something... closer .

His eyes linger on mine longer than they should. My pulse skips. Just a little.

My fingers curl around the hem of my sleeve, grounding myself.

“Calder,” I start, not sure what I’m about to say.

But that’s when the door creaks open.

“ Professor?! ”

Mira’s voice cuts through the air like a spell gone sideways, and both of us jump a solid six inches. She bursts in, raincoat flapping, holding a stack of printouts and one of those ridiculous glowing tablets she’s enchanted to ping when ley anomalies occur.

“Oh gods, I knew you’d still be here! There was a surge uptick like twenty minutes ago and I tracked the leystream signature right to this shack?—”

She stops cold, eyes darting from me to Calder, eyebrows going from curious to suspicious in a single heartbeat.

I scramble back a little, clearing my throat. “Hey, Mira. You, uh... found us.”

Calder mutters something under his breath and shifts further away.

Mira looks at the single bench. The lantern. The proximity.

And then her eyes go wide. “Oh no.”

“It’s not what it looks like,” I say quickly.

“It looks like sexual tension with a side of ley dysfunction,” she whispers, horrified.

I bury my face in my hands.

“I brought new data,” she adds, recovering, shoving the tablet at me. “But we can talk later. Or never. Sorry. I’m gonna—bye!”

She vanishes back into the rain with all the grace of a spooked deer.

The door swings shut behind her.

Silence falls again, but it’s not the same. The thread between us has snapped, replaced by awkwardness, embarrassment, and a fresh wave of “what the hell am I doing?”

I rub my temples. “I forgot I’m a scientist.”

Calder stands slowly. “You forgot you’re being watched.”

That stings more than I expect.

But he’s not cruel about it. Just... distant again. Wall rebuilt. Shell back on.

I hate how much I miss that glimpse of something soft.

“I should go,” I mutter.

He doesn’t argue.

Just watches as I gather my gear, tablet still buzzing faintly with Mira’s new data.

Before I leave, I glance back at him. His silhouette in the fading lantern light is sharp and lonely.

And I realize I didn’t crack his shell tonight.

He let me see inside.

Just for a moment.

And then the tide took it back.