Chapter Text
The morning’s fog pulled away just as Gem hauled her final box inside, and a relieved sigh escaped her lips. Above her, a spiral staircase stretched upwards, ending, as she knew, at the lighthouse’s watch room. On the ground floor, however, the woman plopped herself down on a rickety wooden chair, her eyes drawn to the window where the ocean stretched beyond the cliffside broken only sparsely by jagged rocks. The view was beautiful, though it betrayed the nature of the stone spines lining the cliff’s edge, just out of view.
Her moment of rest was short, interrupted by a knock at the lighthouse door and a voice asking, “Anyone home yet?”
“Yeah, yep, I’m—” Gem jumped to her feet and met the woman on the other side of the door. “I’m here. Hi. I’m the new lighthouse keeper. Did you come for a tour or something?”
The stranger chuckled. “No, nothing like that,” she said. “I’m just the mail lady, but I heard someone new was popping in and I thought I’d say welcome! We’ll probably be seeing each other around, assuming you don’t just up and vanish.”
“What do you mean?”
She laughed, the movement causing her wavy brown hair to sway in front of her face. She tucked a lock behind her ear absently as she said, “Oh, it’s nothing to worry about too much—sometimes people move here and just disappear for no reason. It happened pretty recently, two guys moved here, and one of them just—poof, gone without a trace!”
“That’s… mildly terrifying. I’ll make sure to not do that,” Gem nervously half-laughed.
“I’m just tryin’ to scare ya, it’s not that serious,” the mail lady said with a crooked smile, her blue eyes gleaming in the daylight. “I’m Pearl, by the way. Pleasure to meet you!”
Gem offered a polite smile in return. “A pleasure to meet you, too, Pearl. I’m Gem.”
“What brings you to Aurecove, Gem?” Pearl asked, gesturing loosely at the path in front of the lighthouse that snaked into town. “Family? Friends? Fresh air?”
“Fishing, actually,” Gem said. She took a step outside to point at her boat moored to the end of the pier—it was a small vessel with a spruce hull accented with stripes of rosy mangrove wood, the darkest parts visibly flecked green with algae she hadn’t yet had the time to remove. “I picked it up as a hobby a few years ago but back then, I didn’t live anywhere near the water so I learned to sail so I could go on little expeditions all over the place. Eventually, I realized I might as well move somewhere close to the water to make it easier to go back and forth.”
“It’s always the ocean, isn’t it?” Pearl sighed, shaking her head.
Gem tilted her head in a moment of confused consideration, but she disregarded it upon reasoning, “It’s a coastal town—makes sense that the ocean would be the biggest part of why a lot of people move here. What, is that disappointing?”
“Nah.” Pearl waved a hand dismissively. “I mean, it’s not like we have much to offer as a town, but everyone’s always just focused on the ocean. It gets a bit predictable once you’ve been here long enough.”
“Oh.” Gem almost felt a twinge of guilt. “Not gonna lie, didn’t even think about that,” she admitted, pausing briefly before she continued. “You’ll have to show me around someday so I can see what’s going on—how’s that sound?”
“Sounds lovely, I think!” Pearl’s smile returned to her. “You’re going to love it here, I just know it.”
“I hope so!”
“Welp—” The mail lady glanced briefly behind her, a few backward steps leading a path away. “I’ve got to go, can’t be keeping the mail for too long. Take care and don’t let the harbor crabs get ya!” With that, she waved her farewell and scampered off, clutching the top of her brown leather satchel.
Gem made sure to wave back, blinking as she processed the conversation. What a strange lady, she thought. Then, after a moment, she amended her statement: what a strange town.
She might have only just arrived, but she could tell there was something different about this place, about its people. She could hear it like a hum in the air, the promise of untold secrets bubbling just beneath the surface, layers upon layers of mystery, and perhaps even magic.
Someone else might have regarded it warily, but Gem was an adventurer at heart. She cast a sidelong glance down the pier at the horizon line, watching the light glint off gentle waves as she came to a silent decision—no matter what this place had in store for her, she was ready to dive in.
Far beneath the water’s surface, the ocean floor was littered with treasure—though, it didn’t seem to have the treasure a certain mer was searching for.
“Another Piercing book?” Grian huffed, rolling his eyes as he jammed the enchanted text into his giant rucksack, though he took care not to let any of the less dense trinkets float out as he did.
Since he’d set out in the morning, he’d amassed a small collection of land-dweller knickknacks, ranging from small bottles of strange liquids to half-broken bows.
Most items only had value as novelties from above for the mers who were curious about the landfolk but sensible enough not to risk getting too close to their civilization. The market wasn’t the greatest, but Grian had made a few trades around Meris Hollow using what he’d found.
There did exist, however, certain lucrative land treasures that piqued the interest of even the greatest skeptics about the land—namely, enchanted books.
Though the inside text bled in water, the enchantments were still transferable from their sodden forms. Since enchantments were a form of magic only conjurable on land, recovered books were one of the only ways for mers to access them.
The crown jewel of all enchanted books, of course, was the Mending book, which allowed the chosen piece of gear to repair itself. Grian had been searching for one for as long as he’d been staying in Meris Hollow without much luck.
He had plenty of Piercing books, though.
After making sure the clasp on his bag was secure, Grian returned to sweeping the ocean floor, alternating between using his tail to sweep away swaths of sediment and his webbed hands to brush away seaweed and turn over stones.
He paused as he stuck his hand behind a strand of kelp and felt something fibrous on the other side. He froze, fearing he might have disturbed another creature.
Carefully, he drew closer to inspect the object. It was, thankfully, not a living being at all, but another lost land item. A sweater, his mind supplied, though the dark fabric was clearly not meant to be submerged for long periods. He rubbed it between his fingers, wondering where the material to create such a garment would have come from. A plant, perhaps? Or a land animal?
It wouldn’t bear much value down here, he supposed, but part of him was tempted to hold onto it regardless—it was charming, he told himself as he tucked it into his bag.
Grian’s rucksack strained to close with the addition of the sweater, so he supposed he’d better make his way back to Meris Hollow. He hummed in satisfaction as he swam back to the city, guided by the distant glow of hundreds of sea pickles and sea lanterns. He kept a close hold on the bag, some narrow passageways not agreeing with its bulk. Nevertheless, he squeezed through, relieved to meet the open water of Meris Hollow’s cavern bastion.
At the moment of entry, the foggy underwater blues became the slightest bit clearer, and he breathed in the sights. Meris Hollow was a palimpsest of a city, threads of history pulled and rewoven too many times to count; some structures were built from remnants of shipwrecks, rounded wooden hulls fashioned into doorways and side rooms, sails cut to form curtains and banners. Near the outskirts of the city, many homes were stacked atop each other, lining the cave walls, illuminated by shimmering aquatic light. Glowing pathways lined with shells and lanterns snaked through the city toward the conduit at its center.
Grian scanned the homesteads, dipping his head politely to passersby as he continued down the thoroughfare. He was briefly lost on which of the numerous buildings was his destination before spotting the uniquely vibrant hanging coral garden attached to his housemates’ abode.
Upon approach, the mer had to stop himself, nearly colliding with another figure just swimming out.
“Whoa—Grian!” Martyn laughed off the near-impact. “I was just headed out but—might as well stay if you’re back. What’ve you got there?” The coral-clad man peered curiously at his rucksack, the sleeves of his tattered red and white blouse fluttering in the open water.
“Y’know… stuff,” Grian answered vaguely. “I did wanna ask—well, first, is Scott here?”
With a slight nod, Martyn returned, “Oh, yeah, he’s just inside.” An air of faux offense led to his saying, “What, am I not good enough to answer your question?”
“No, you’re not,” Grian shot back, a short laugh denoting his flippancy.
“Wow! How rude.”
Scott perked up as the two cheery mers made their presence known, and Grian sank to the den’s wooden floor, unclasping his bag and allowing the contents to tumble free of containment.
“You seem excited,” the blue-haired mer commented. “Did you finally find that Mending?”
“No.” Grian deflated slightly, shaking his head before continuing, “but I did find some Unbreaking—those can be pretty valuable. Lots of just junk but, I don’t know, maybe someone really needs seventeen tripwire hooks.” He shrugged, then displayed that dark sweater he’d found. “I’m keeping this, though,” he said. “I think it suits me.”
Scott fought a snicker. “Oookay,” he drawled. “You do you, but you know—you could always just have someone make you something to wear here, right? You don’t have to steal clothes from the land.”
“They’re never good quality anyway,” Martyn agreed.
Grian stopped for a moment, eyeing the sweater. Something about it was comfortable, familiar, like a memory dancing just in his periphery, Perhaps his father wore something like it, imbuing it with a homesick longing. He couldn’t place it, but he clutched it defiantly.
“Well—yeah, I know, I just—I like it,” he maintained.
“Whatever you say,” Scott ceded with a shrug. “Just don’t go around wearing it. Nobody holds very high regard for land people here.”
“Really depends on if it’s a fear thing or just disdain, but y’know,” Martyn noted as he sank into the bed of a wooden bench just off to the side.
“It wasn’t like I was going to,” mumbled the sandy blond mer.
A silence permeated the air before Martyn again broke it, asking, “So, anything fun happen while you were out?”
Grian hummed noncommittally.
“Cool, cool, cool. Well—y’know what, there’s this restaurant in town; I don’t think you’ve been yet. I was going to head out and grab a bite—you’re welcome to come too,” Martyn offered, tossing a glance over toward Scott as to add, lightheartedly, “and you, too, I guess.”
“Sure, why not,” Scott said. “Grian?”
Hesitation was devoured by a freshly-recognized hunger and he nodded, absently shoveling his collected trinkets back into his bag.
“Yeah, okay.”
“Knock knock!” someone called from outside the lighthouse, accompanied, fittingly, by two short knocks on the door. The sound carried to the top of the staircase, where Gem was in the middle of dusting away what seemed like several months’ worth of cobwebs. She’d spent most of yesterday lugging her belongings up the stairs and into their proper rooms, so the next items on her to-do list were unpacking and cleaning this place enough that she didn’t fear waking up in the middle of the night with hives from the layers of dust around.
Gem made her way down the stairs, wincing as she stepped on a few creaky boards, yelling down, “One second!”
She took a moment to catch her breath, her hand resting on the unturned knob. Spending most of her time on a small boat meant that, while she was fairly strong, her stamina left something to be desired. It was unbecoming to answer the door panting and covered in dust, however, so she patted herself off then pulled the door open.
Before her stood a man; he was clearly dressed for the outdoors with a pale green and yellow shirt, though he was bafflingly in a pair of shorts despite the early autumn chill. “Well, hello there,” he said, leaning against the doorway as he flashed her a lopsided grin.
“Hi?” Gem greeted him curiously. “What brings you all the way out here?”
“Oh, you know, just welcoming you to the neighborhood! It’s been a while since we had a lighthouse keeper,” he said. Then, as what seemed like a practiced afterthought, he added, “I noticed also that you have a fine boat docked over there. Would you happen to be able to sail, oh, I don’t know, around the rocks by the far side of town?”
Gem blinked in surprise. “Uh, probably?” She tried to conjure an image of the area to which he was referring—much of the coast starting near the lighthouse was lined with craggy spires of rock that were difficult to navigate. Gem was a skilled sailor, though, and the small size of her boat made it easier for her to get through small passageways. “Why, do you need a ride or…”
He brightened at that. “That would be amazin’,” he replied. “Name’s Scar, by the way—I’m doing some research about the local marine wildlife so I’ve been trying to find a way over there.”
She nodded, finally finding her footing in the conversation. “I’m Gem,” she introduced herself. “My boat’s pretty small but I’m sure you could fit if you wanted to tag along on my next fishing trip.”
That seemed to pique a particular interest. “You fish?” Scar questioned, leaning forward just a bit.
“Uh—yeah?”
He hummed contemplatively before saying, “That’s so interesting.”
“How is that—you know what, I’m not even gonna ask,” Gem half-laughed, half-sighed. “I didn’t have any plans to do any fishing today, so would… next week work? No, actually—make that two weeks from now, I think I’m pretty packed this week.”
“Sure! Sure, yeah. Say, Gem, you’re new in town, right? How well do you know the place? Howsabout a tour, huh?” Scar offered. Kind of out of the blue, Gem thought, raising an eyebrow in suspicion. Was this, like… an attempt to ask her on a date?
“That’s very sweet, but I’m a—I’m a little busy, I have to finish… cleaning the, uh—the stairs,” she managed, having lost the thread on what words were for a second there.
Scar visibly deflated, a pitiful little stare toward the ground drawing focus to the puff of dirt he kicked up, like a sad cartoon character. Gem couldn’t help but feel bad.
She stammered briefly before forming proper words. “Okay, maybe I can take a break,” she gave in. “Only for a little while, though!”
That jovial air returned to Scar immediately, and he grinned. “Really?”
Gem shooed him out of the doorway, closing the lighthouse door behind her. “Yeah, yep, c’mon,” she said, “before I change my mind!”
Scar grinned and beckoned her down the winding street leading to the denser part of town. “This is the main road,” he began. “Follow it long enough and you’ll get to most of the important places ‘round town.”
“Mhm, mhm,” Gem hummed along attentively, ensuring she kept a comfortable distance from her impromptu tour guide, just in case. Given the distance between the town proper and the lighthouse, she expected Scar to run out of things to say at some point, but no, he continued.
“This road up to the lighthouse was once carefully paved and lovingly traveled by many, many people, but when the town stopped having a lighthouse keeper, it fell into disrepair,” he explained, then gesturing toward the water. “Water travel began to be more popular than walking, too, but some ships sank because of the terrible spikes, and some say they still haunt the seafloor to this day!”
Gem laughed to herself. Why was this turning into a ghost story, she wondered.
He waved his hands in an attempt to be mysterious. “The wandering spirits of sailors are said to take the form of mermaids—maybe you could even catch one with your own eyes if you look close enough,” Scar proclaimed as he confidently marched forward, ironically not sparing the shores a second glance himself.
That was definitely fake, Gem noted to herself. Out of politeness, however, she let her eyes drift to the water, to which she stopped in her tracks. Staring right at her, a sandy-haired man clung loosely to one of the pointed stones, peering at her and Scar from a ways away. Webbed fingers and fin-like protrusions from where ears otherwise would be denoted an aquatic nature to them.
“Uh. Scar?” Gem meekly called. When he didn’t answer, she turned to look at him, shouting, “Scar! Look! Right over there, there’s—it’s—” She gestured toward where that figure once was, but it had since vanished.
“Huh? What?” He squinted in that direction, but upon seeing nothing, he shot Gem a concerned look, chuckling nervously. “Did—Did you actually see something, or are you just trying to scare me?”
“I saw something! I know I saw something. Were you serious about that ghost thing?”
Scar put his hands up as if in surrender, glancing between the sea and the lighthouse keeper. “I’ll tell you the truth,” he admitted, “I was making it up! It sounded cool! I-I’ve heard that this town has a lot of myths about fish people and thought—”
“Scar! Ugh.” Gem facepalmed, stifling a groan. “What is with you people! You scared the—hold on.” She narrowed her eyes. “Why were you making stuff up to begin with? You’re giving me a tour, surely you’d know actual stuff to talk about, right?”
Scar blinked. “Why, of course,” he contended. “I mean, what kind of tour guide doesn’t know their city? Town? I know everything there is to know about the… Crumbly Square and the Town Halls and the shops and the bits and the bobs—I’m just the guy to ask about anything!” He began to walk again, pace faster than before. “Off we go! Down to all the important places, rich with history and commerce!”
Gem shook her head but followed along, amused at the very least, even if she didn’t trust a word of this.
“Right across the street over there is Bdubs’ café—” he paused, squinting at the sign posted in front of the two-story green and gray building, a tall staircase leading up to the main entrance, “—Wet Dirt.”
Gem glanced between him and the sign. The sign did seem to say Wet Dirt, but between her existing doubt of Scar’s Aurecove expertise and the absurdity of the name, she was questioning her own literacy skills.
“Most people just call it the café,” he claimed, shrugging. “It’s the only one around.”
“Are the drinks good?”
Scar nodded sagely. “The brewing machine might still be broken, but once it’s fixed, you should try the milksog.”
“The milksog?” Gem echoed, wondering if she’d heard him correctly.
“The milksog.”
She didn’t want to know.
“Okay then,” the woman said, an awkward laugh slipping from her lips. “Milksog. Got it.”
Scar grinned. “They also host open mic nights, and karaoke on the weekends,” he added. “They’re also planning an event for the Harvest Festival in a few weeks. I go every year. It’s always a great time—you should stop by!”
That statement flung the question of whether or not this was meant to be a date back to the forefront of Gem’s mind. She fought back a grimace.
Skirting around the possible date invitation, she asked, “You go every year, huh? How long have you lived here?”
“About a year,” he answered easily.
“...so you’ve been there once,” Gem said slowly, squinting at him for any indication that he understood the strangeness of his statement.
He shrugged into his words, joyfully accentuating a short, “Yep!”
This town was full of weirdos, she lamented. She would ask if there was something in the water, but considering what she’d seen down by the rocks, she already knew the answer to that.
“Anyway,” Scar went on, gesturing further down the street, “just over there is Town Hall, home to all our official town business—I told you I knew where it was!” He beamed as he pointed at a brick building accented with sandstone arches. “It also doubles as our post office if you ever need to send anything, and, don’t tell anyone I told you this, but you can haggle for deals on stamps if you offer to test the magic message machines.” He shot her a sly wink.
“Good to know,” Gem replied, mentally taking note of the location. Maybe she’d stop by to see if Pearl was there in the future.
They walked for a few more minutes, Scar rambling about his experience with the post system, until they reached a wide intersection. “Further inland that way is the school,” Scar told her, nodding to the path on the right, “but all the interesting stuff is over this way.”
“Everything you talked about earlier—you’re telling me that wasn’t the ‘interesting stuff?’” she wondered aloud, wondering just what bizarre sights could lie ahead for the Wet Dirt Café and the literal merperson to not be considered ‘interesting.’
“This is our shopping strip!” Scar said, gesturing grandly to—well, she wasn’t sure what she was expecting from the shopping strip of a small town but there appeared to be only two stores, one of which was comically larger than the other.
The smaller of the two was a single-story brick building with a bright green awning reading, ‘Aurecove Gift Shop.’ The window display was decorated in flashing neon lights that should look tacky but only served to add to the quirky yet quaint ambiance the establishment seemed to possess.
The larger building was constructed in a completely different style, gray-stained glass framed with spruce and hardened clay to create a towering structure resembling an old greenhouse. The entry archway had a sign written in swirling cursive that simply read, ‘The Barge General Store.’ Through the windows, Gem could see dozens of signs tacked above chests, referring to a variety of items ranging from sacks of sand and stacks of wooden logs to surprise boxes and enchanted tridents.
She glanced at Scar, waiting for him to launch into an explanation of the stores’ significance, but found him staring silently at the general store, a faraway look in his eyes.
“Scar?” she prompted.
“Isn’t it beautiful?” he asked quietly, not taking his eyes off the building.
She stared at him, then at the store. He wasn’t wrong, but the way he was speaking—it made Gem feel like she was missing something here.
“It looks great,” she settled on replying. He smiled, though she swore she caught a twinge of sadness in it.
“Of course it does,” he sighed, before shaking his head.
At an impasse for what to do or say, Gem opted to change the topic, remarking, “That gift shop sure is colorful in comparison, isn’t it? Do you guys get a lot of tourists in town, or…?”
“U-Uhm—” Scar jolted out of his stupor, thinking for a second. “Yeah, kind of, sometimes,” he answered. “More like a place people stop on the way to somewhere else, though. The guy who runs it is great—sometimes I stop by just to hang out. He has a pinball machine.”
“Hm!” Gem hummed, intrigued. “That’s pretty cool, actually.”
“Mmmmhm—and all the badge thingies are handmade. Pin thingies. Y’know, the—you—” He mimed affixing a lapel pin to his shirt. “Those things.”
She nodded. “I’ll try to stop by next time I’m free. Sounds interesting.”
Scar made a quick glance around, motioning vaguely to some blank spaces that looked as though they could very well harbor buildings themselves. “I think there were more places here before, at some point. That was before my time,” he went on. “But! I have heard that there’re plans to expand this area, from a certain architect I happen to know!” He snickered, wearing a bright smile that only faltered briefly.
Gem noticed but didn’t acknowledge it, instead offering, “You seem to know a lot of people around town, don’t you?”
“Why, yes I do—I’m quite the socialite, if I do say so myself,” Scar proudly proclaimed. “And speaking of knowing people—” He turned, pointing west. “If you look over that way, up there is where most of the houses are. The trees kind of block the view from here, but I live that way. I take it you live in the lighthouse, so we’re on complete opposite ends of town from each other.”
“A shame,” Gem said, though she wasn’t sure yet whether she meant it.
Scar nodded. “I’m sure we’ll see each other around, though. Like in two weeks, when you take me on your boat!”
“Right.” She’d almost forgotten about that.
“On that note,” Scar continued, “I think that’s about it for a tour? There’s fish places but they don’t just let anyone wander in there, for some reason.”
“That’s because they’re for processing,” she told him. “I fish a lot—that’s kind of my thing.” With a short shake of her head, she added, “And is that really it? Wow, this town is smaller than I thought.”
“I know, right! I moved here from the city—it’s so weird to have so little around,” Scar complained. “The people are nicer, at least.”
“Different, for sure,” Gem laughed. She glimpsed behind herself, the lighthouse poking out from its place atop the cliff. “Well—I should get back now,” she told Scar, waving a bit as she began stepping away. “Thanks for the show-around. See you soon, I guess!”
“Okay! Bye, have a great time,” he called after her, drawing out the last word and gradually lowering his volume, stepping backward slowly.
Gem rolled her eyes along with a chuckle. Sweet guy, but not her type. This was going to be a long few weeks, she accepted, beginning the trek back up toward the lighthouse.
Breaching the water’s surface, Grian took a gulp of air. Without the boon of Meris Hollow’s conduit centerpiece, he was forced to go up for breath occasionally.
Bleary-eyed from the sudden unfiltered daylight, the mer blindly grabbed for any nearby formation, easily taking hold of a jutting spire of slick ocean stone. He blinked away his maladjusted sight, slowly taking in the scene of two land dwellers a ways up the crag, travelling down its smooth decline toward the connected town below.
His heart lurched from what he could only place as fear, or perhaps the thrill of mischief—being so close to landfolk was the last thing he was supposed to be doing. This orange-haired woman and her brunet companion were an interesting sight, though. What could possibly go wrong?
As if fate herself stepped down from the heavens, Grian was promptly bitch-slapped with the folly of his choice, locked in eye contact with the woman who herself was shouting for her companion to look over. The second she glanced away, Grian ducked beneath the surface, rocketing through the water back toward the city.
This might be bad, he worried. This might be very, very bad.
Once finding his way back, he realized not only had he been spotted, he also neglected to collect his rucksack in his thoughtless fleeing, leaving today’s spoils to sit amongst the ship-sinking stones.
“You’re back early,” Scott made a point to comment as Grian neared his home’s exterior. Although he maintained focus on tending to his hanging garden, he shot the sandy-haired mer a suspicious side-eye—that knowing sort of stare that bore into every insecurity, sending a pang of guilt through his stomach that he tried his best to quell.
“Unlucky today,” he responded noncommittally, dodging past Scott and through the open doorway.
He didn’t have to turn around to know the expression Scott was making—lips pursed, eyebrows raised, gaze sharp as a shark’s when blood was in the water. Grian contemplated making a break for his room at the end of the hall, but Scott called out, “Martyn, come out for a second.”
“Yeah, what’s up?” Martyn asked, swimming out into the hall, effectively trapping Grian between his two housemates. Grian grimaced, pointedly staring down at the floor as he felt Scott’s scrutinizing gaze on him.
“Grian’s acting weird,” Scott stated, arms crossed.
Glancing shortly between the two, Grian put his hands up as if in surrender. “Look, fellas, this doesn’t have to be a big thing, I’m just feeling a little out of it today,” he tried.
Martyn leaned to meet eyes with Scott, and like they shared some telepathic message, he shrugged and said, “I figured something like this would happen eventually.”
“Something like what?”
“Grian,” Scott started with a gentle but accusatory tone, “did you get seen? By a land person?”
His silence only served as confirmation to them, and Martyn tutted, shaking his head.
“I get it, man, really. I get it,” said Martyn, “but you’ve gotta be more careful.”
“No,” Scott interjected. “We’ve been telling him for weeks how dangerous that is. What were you thinking!”
Stammering at first, Grian managed, “I-I just—I just needed to breathe! I needed to breathe—I didn’t have any choice but to go up! It was only one person anyway, it’s fine…”
“It’s really not,” argued Scott. “Those people will murder us if you give them the chance. You better hope they didn’t see where you swam off to.”
“It’s happened before,” Martyn emphasized. “Timmy—”
Scott averted his gaze to the side for just a second, pressing his lips together and furrowing his brows. “Not a story we’re getting into,” he spat through a clenched jaw. “Not while I’m here, at least.”
“Sorry. Sore subject, I bet.”
“You think?” Scott sighed. “Just—” He shook his head, leaving that train of thought to instead shift focus back toward Grian. “It’s dangerous to do that—you’re new, but that doesn’t excuse it.”
Grian felt like a child being scolded by his parents, reading into their mannerisms to find any explanation as to why but finding nothing. Scott was more withdrawn than ever, his crossed arms instead shifting to wrap loosely around his abdomen and his eyes elsewhere, as if in the midst of scouring his own thoughts, little regard given for how Grian was feeling. Martyn wore a sympathetic half-smile, twinged with guilt, only serving to make the sandy blond mer feel worse. It didn’t help his case when he fired back, “It wasn’t even my fault—you’re being ridiculous!”
“You shouldn’t have been so close to the shore to begin with,” Scott admonished. “Scour deep water instead.”
“There’s way less to find there, all the valuable things are—”
“That doesn’t matter!”
Grian bit back a scream, substituting it for meaningless grumbles. He turned sharply, pushing past Scott and out into open water. “I’m going for a swim.”
“You—”
“Not anywhere near the surface,” he shouted over Scott’s beginnings of an interruption. “I’m taking a minute.”
“Fine, be that way,” he heard the mer remark, continuing toward Martyn, “I swear, he’s so…” but he didn’t catch the rest, gliding through the water, following the path he’d taken to get here.
Once he’d made it back out of the city’s confines, he let out a frustrated groan.
He understood, in theory, why Scott and Martyn had reacted the way they did; if they were right about the dangers of letting landfolk know about their existence, Grian might have put their entire city at risk of discovery.
Strangely, however, Grian knew in his gut that wasn’t the case—call it intuition or naïveté, but he didn’t believe that woman would come for them.
See, there was something about the brief trip to the surface nagging at him. After all the cautionary tales he’d heard about the surface, about its people, he’d expected the flash of fear that had zipped down his spine. But that wasn’t the only thing he’d felt in the moment—
It had been quick, and the adrenaline rush had masked most of it, but for a split-second, it was there: a twinge of recognition from the recesses of his mind, an aching call, a distant fondness. Without thinking, Grian wrapped his arms around himself in a mockery of an embrace.
It didn’t make sense but the surface felt safe, calling to mind ghosts of gentle touches, wispy memories blanketed in a rosy haze of warmth, all lingering just beyond his reach.
Nostalgia.
And to Grian, that was worth chasing after.