She said my name like it was a challenge.
"Xylan."
Just that. No hesitation, no question mark, no apology. Like she'd already decided she knew me.
Hope Starling. Everything about her screamed perfection—the careful fall of her hair, the way she smiled like it had been rehearsed in front of mirrors, the kind of glow that came from being looked at all the time.
But there was something behind it. A flicker. A shadow. Like she was tired of the light.
Everyone at this school adored her. Teachers, students, and the cafeteria lady who gave her extra dessert sometimes.
And still, when she'd said my name, it hadn't sounded like any of that mattered. It sounded like she wanted to see if I'd flinch.
I didn't. I kept my hood up. I kept my pencil moving. Pretended her voice hadn't cracked something open.
The sea was loud again today. Even here, in the classroom. A low, humming sound, threading under the teacher's voice, through the walls, through me.
It wasn't in my ears—it was deeper. Like it was in my blood.
And I knew what it wanted. It always wanted the same thing. To pull. To claim. To take back what belonged to it.
But for the first time, it wasn't whispering my name. It was whispering hers.
When the bell rang, I shoved my sketchbook into my bag and stood up before the rest could trap me in their noise.
She was already waiting by the door, notebook pressed against her chest, sunlight catching the faint gold in her hair.
"Library after lunch?" she asked, her tone bright, like she was used to people saying yes before she even finished speaking.
I just nodded. "Sure."
And that was it. No small talk, no smile. Just one word.
But somehow, she looked satisfied—like she'd gotten the answer she wanted.
The hallway was crowded, voices bouncing off the walls like static. I kept my hood low, earbuds in, sketchbook pressed tight against my side.
But the hum followed me.
A whisper brushed the back of my neck. Too soft to be real. Too familiar to ignore.
She's here.
I froze.
The sound was gone. Replaced by the chatter of students, footsteps, and laughter. Normal things. Human things.
But I couldn't shake the feeling that the ocean was… watching. Waiting.
And when I reached for the pendant under my shirt—the one shaped like a teardrop—it was warm.
Lunch passed in a blur of noise I didn't care about. A football hitting lockers. Someone spilling juice. Hope Starling's laugh carrying across the cafeteria like sunlight cutting through fog.
I sat alone at the edge of the room, sketchbook open, pencil moving. I drew shadows—waves curling into claws, eyes hidden in the foam, a horizon that looked like it was swallowing itself.
No one noticed me. That was the point.
But every time her laugh cut through the noise, my pencil slipped.
After lunch, I pushed open the library doors. The air was colder there, thick with dust and quiet. Books towered like cliffs, their spines lined up like soldiers.
And there she was—Hope—sitting by the window, the ocean glimmering behind her like it was part of her somehow.
She didn't see me at first. Her fingers brushed over the pages of a myth book, tracing something—a word, a symbol.
The light hit her pendant—a faintly glowing blue stone—and for a split second, it pulsed.
My throat went dry. I knew that glow. I'd seen it before.
Not here. Not in this world. Somewhere deeper. Older.
I slid into the chair across from her, sketchbook already open. My pencil moved without thought—lines, shadows, fragments of waves.
She looked up, finally noticing me. Her eyes caught mine for a heartbeat too long.
"Ready?" she asked.
I didn't answer right away. My pencil paused, hovering above the page.
Then I nodded once. "Yeah."
Her smile flickered—not the perfect one, not the rehearsed one. Something smaller. Realer.
And for the first time, the sea went quiet.
But quiet didn't mean safe.
I flipped to a blank page, sketching without looking at her. My hand moved fast, almost frantic. The lines twisted into shapes I didn't plan—spirals, waves, a figure standing at the edge of the water.
Her.
I shut the book before she could see.
She leaned forward, tapping the myth book with her pen. "We should pick something strong. Something that fits."
Her pendant pulsed again, faint but undeniable.
I swallowed. "Like what?"
She tilted her head, hair catching the light. "Maybe something about the sea taking people. Legends of drownings, sirens, curses."
The hum surged in my chest.
I gripped the pendant under my hoodie, forcing my voice steady. "That's dangerous."
She raised an eyebrow. "Dangerous makes it interesting."
I didn't answer.
Because the ocean was already answering for me.