"Normal."
Everyone kept saying it.
"Everything's fine."
"The storm passed."
"You're fine."
No.
Nothing was fine.
I tugged my hoodie tighter around me, the fabric rough against my wrists, hiding the small pendant beneath it. It pulsed faintly against my chest—slow, steady, almost thoughtful. Like it was listening. My fingers itched to touch it, to press my palm against it and feel the warmth, to remind myself I hadn't imagined last night.
Because this—this perfect morning—was the lie.
The streets of Azure Bay gleamed like they'd been wiped clean too carefully. Every shop window reflected the sunlight at the same angle. Every flowerbox looked curated, measured, staged. Even the air smelled… planned. Salt and citrus and something sharp beneath
it, like electricity, pretending to be calm. The pendant throbbed once, harder, as if it disagreed. Hope Starling walked into class like yesterday had never happened. Perfect hair. Glossed lips. That effortless smile everyone loved.
She laughed softly at something Seraphina said, her voice light, careless, floating across the room. The room leaned toward her without realizing it. People always did.
I watched the details no one else noticed.
The faint trace of dried salt tangled near the ends of her hair. A small scratch on her sneaker, like she'd scraped it against stone. The way her fingers twitched when she scrolled—just once—before going still.
She was bothered by the storm.
She was just hiding it.
The world expected her to be flawless. Unshaken. Perfect. And she played the role perfectly. Too perfectly.
I couldn't tell her what I knew.
I couldn't tell her what I felt when the sea looked at her.
Couldn't warn her.
At lunch, she sat alone by the windows, sunlight spilling across the table like it belonged to her. The sea stretched beyond the glass—blue, endless, pretending to behave.
I stayed back.
My sketchbook rested in my bag, heavy. Pencil untouched. Every time I tried to draw lately, the lines refused to stay where I put them. Shapes bent. Faces appeared where they didn't belong. Her face. I looked up again.
She laughed—clear, bright, ringing above the noise, but this time it sounded like she was missing her usual spark. Like she was shaken—and something in my chest tightened painfully.
Not envy.
Not anger.
Recognition.
She belongs to the sea.
The thought terrified me.
Because so did my mother.
My mother's face came to my mind uninvited, clear as if she stood beside me.
The way she'd kept her distance near the end.
The way she'd watched the water like it might answer her questions and solve her problems.
The way she'd gone out for duty despite the warnings.
Despite me.
I don't know why she left me.
And how the sea had taken her anyway.
The pendant burned warmer, almost painful now.
I pressed my arm against my side, breathing through it, so deep in my thoughts, my memories that I didn't realise Hope went silent. An unusual sort of silence. Hope glanced toward the window.
Just for a second.
Her smile faltered—so fast no one else noticed.
But I did.
There was something about her.
Something wrong.
Something more.
Something the sea had marked.
And the worst part?
I knew I should stay away. I knew what the water did to people who listened too closely. I knew how stories like this ended.
But when Hope Starling stood up, sunlight catching in her hair, and walked past my table—
The pendant pulsed once.
In sync with her steps.
And I understood, with quiet certainty, that this wasn't a coincidence.
Not her.
Not me.
Not the sea.
And yet… I couldn't tell anyone.