Total pages in book: 33
Estimated words: 31279 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 156(@200wpm)___ 125(@250wpm)___ 104(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 31279 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 156(@200wpm)___ 125(@250wpm)___ 104(@300wpm)
Last time he came, he used a scooping device that scraped the lakebed. I tucked an oyster into it—a plump one I knew held a black pearl—because gifts for the surface are the only way I know to say thank you for being gentle. When he pried it open and smiled, my heart… ugh. I floated upside down for a full minute. Embarrassing.
Today, clouds are muscling in from the west, stacking into dark towers that prick the skin with static. A rush of cold water slips through the shallows. The hairs on my arms lift. Thunder rolls across the lake like a giant turning over in his sleep.
“Don’t,” I whisper to the boat. To the man. To myself. “Not today.”
I sink back under and braid a strand of eelgrass through my fingers to keep them from fidgeting. But the boat turns, anchoring in its usual spot. He’s here. Of course he is.
He lowers his devices. He measures. Writes things on a board with quick, neat strokes. I shouldn’t be here, and I definitely shouldn’t tilt my face up through the green light to catch how the sun breaks over his cheekbones, but I do. Curiosity might not kill cats underwater, but it can certainly get mermaids exiled.
The wind rakes fingers along the surface, and the boat rocks. Lines snap taut. He moves to secure the sail—fast and competent—until the boom lashes wild in a sudden gust and cracks him hard across the head. He stumbles.
My stomach drops into the silt as he falls overboard.
For half a heartbeat, I freeze. The rules, the warnings, Grandmother’s kind eyes telling me not all smiles are safe. Water swallows the sound of the storm. The lake opens its arms. My body chooses before my mind does.
I kick hard. The water parts as if it loves me. I slice through the dark toward him, toward the bright thread that is his life in the water, and the line I’m about to cross with no way back.
Next time you tell yourself not to do something wildly reckless—listen.
Another crack of thunder. Another roll of wind. I move faster.
And hope, foolishly and ferociously, that the star that made us is still on my side.
Chapter 2
Everett
Storm light turns the city the color of a bruise. The wind picks up, and the glass hums with that low, aching pressure you feel in your teeth before a storm breaks.
From my office at Tidal Solutions, twenty-six floors up, I watch clouds muscle in over the forest—Fable Forest, and beyond it, the town of Screaming Woods. Both places are rumored to be steeped in magic and fairy tales. As a scientist, I don’t have time for either.
Tidal Solutions was founded on the promise of restoring balance between people, progress, and the planet. Officially, we’re an environmental engineering firm: water purification, shoreline restoration, ecological consulting. In practice, we’re a multinational brand with glossy brochures and more investors than scientists.
The storm presses closer, a low pulse against the glass. I tell myself it’s just weather, but it feels like a warning.
“You’re not going out on Starfall Lake today, are you?” Ricky asks, forehead pressed to the window. He sounds like a man about to witness a crime.
“I already have a mother, Ricky,” I say wryly. I don’t add and a father, and a board of directors, and the HOA president from hell. “I don’t need another.”
“That storm looks wicked,” he says, peeling himself away to steal a file off my desk. “And don’t say it’ll blow over. That sucker has opinions.”
He’s not wrong. The sky is a stack of dark anvils, and the air filtering through the cracked window tastes like pennies. Sensible men reschedule. Sensible men also marry the woman their father picks for them and play golf on Sundays. I prefer boats.
“I’ll be fine,” I say gruffly. “I need fresh data on lead levels after the factory came online near the Screaming Woods buffer zone. And I want to field-test the new locator. Bad weather is good weather for that.” Two birds. One mildly irresponsible stone.
Ricky’s mouth does that thing where it can’t decide between pleading and swearing. He settles on giving me a look that says You’re going to do what you want, and my job is to try to keep you alive anyway. He rolls his eyes and shuts the door.
Peace lasts six whole seconds.
The door slams open, and I’m halfway through “Ricky—” when my father barrels in. Kara trails behind him, all calm competence and tidy bun, the human equivalent of a deep breath.
“I knew you’d be addle-brained enough to go out,” Dad says, looming like a different kind of storm wearing a suit. “I’m here to put an end to that. You need to take Kara out. It’s been two weeks.”
“Good to see you too,” I say, because I’m a mature adult. “I have a meeting out of town.” Lie. “Suppliers.” Bigger lie. I’m my own supplier today.