He let himself drop back onto the deck briefly, staring at the stars overhead.
Alive.
The relief lasted less than a second.
A scream tore through the interior of the wreck.
"Adam!"
Morris.
The voice cracked with panic.
It was not confused this time.
Not dazed.
It was terrified.
Adam's head snapped toward the shattered corridor leading below deck.
His heart slammed hard against his ribs.
Why was Morris screaming?
He was supposed to be calm.
Protected.
Sirena was—
Another crash echoed from within the hull.
Metal striking metal.
And beneath it, something else.
A sound that did not belong to Morris.
Low.
Wet.
Alive.
Adam surged to his feet, adrenaline detonating back into his bloodstream.
The relief evaporated.
And dread rushed in to take its place.
"Adam!"
Morris' voice tore through the hull again, ragged and desperate.
Adam did not think. He moved.
His legs responded before his mind caught up, boots pounding against the warped metal of the funnel deck as he sprinted toward the shattered corridor leading below. The wreck groaned beneath him, a deep, grinding complaint that vibrated up through his bones. Every step felt uncertain. The entire structure had shifted after the blasts. Plates no longer aligned cleanly. Seams had split. Somewhere beneath his feet, something large tore free with a splintering shriek.
The ship was dying.
He stumbled once as the floor tilted subtly beneath him, caught himself against a rusted beam, and pushed forward. His lungs burned from the earlier shockwave. One ear still muffled the world while the other throbbed raw and exposed. His heartbeat pounded unevenly in his skull.
No time.
The stairwell to the lower deck had warped. He slid down the last few steps rather than risk the trembling structure collapsing beneath him.
The air below was heavier. Thicker. It smelled of rust, damp wood, and something sharp, metallic. Blood.
The corridor ahead split down the center.
Adam rounded the corner and saw them.
The floor between bulkheads had cracked open, a jagged line splitting the deck where Morris and Sirena had been standing moments before. The lower half of the ship had begun to dip, tilting toward the lake as water surged in through ruptured seams. A dark, widening gap separated the stable side from the section that was slowly giving way.
Morris stood at the very edge of the split.
He was swaying.
Blood ran from his nose in a thin line down over his upper lip, dripping from his chin onto Sirena's shoulder. His face was pale beneath the smears. His breathing came sharp and uneven.
But he was upright.
And in his arms, he carried her.
Sirena's legs hung awkwardly against his side, knees bending in a way that still looked unnatural on her. She clutched weakly at his shirt, her bare feet flexing uncertainly as if still unsure how to balance weight properly. Even in the dim emergency lighting, her skin held that faint, luminous sheen that marked her as something not fully human.
She could stand.
She could take a few steps.
But walking remained effort, coordination unfamiliar and taxing. The mechanics of hips and knees and balance still seemed new terrain to her body. Morris did not hesitate over that fact. He did not pause to weigh whether she might fare better in the water.
He simply held her tighter.
As if she were fragile.
As if she were not born of the lake.
His instincts overrode logic entirely. The battered siren in his arms was someone to save, not someone who could save herself.
The tilting section of deck groaned lower.
Metal screamed as rivets tore free.
Morris planted his foot on the stable side and lunged forward, forcing his weight across the widening crack. The lower section dropped another few inches as water poured in beneath it.
"Adam!" he barked, teeth gritted.
Adam reached them just as Morris cleared the split.
Sirena nearly slipped from his arms as the deck shifted again. Adam stepped in and grabbed her under the shoulders, steadying her. Her skin was cool and slick against his palms.
For a brief second, all three stood on the stable side of the deck.
Then the sinking section gave way.
The torn half of the corridor collapsed downward with a violent splash as it tore loose and plunged into the lake. A rush of cold spray blasted through the opening.
Morris' footing vanished.
The deck beneath him tilted sharply, and his boot slid on pooled water. He reached instinctively for Adam, but the motion came too late. His weight shifted backward.
He fell.
The splash was immediate and heavy.
Adam barely registered it. His arms tightened around Sirena as he dragged her farther from the collapsing edge. She clung to him awkwardly, breath coming quick and shallow.
A sound burst from the water.
Laughter.
Not hysterical.
Not mocking.
Startled.
Morris' head broke the surface a few feet from the wreck. He spat water from his mouth, blinking lake water from his eyes.
For half a second, his expression shifted from shock to something almost sheepish.
"Oh," he coughed, pushing wet hair from his face. "Right."
He looked at Sirena, then back at Adam, realization dawning through the haze of adrenaline.
"She's the mermaid."
The absurdity of it slipped out of him in a rough, breathless chuckle. Even now, bleeding, bruised, the ship collapsing behind him, he laughed once under his breath at his own forgetfulness.
Adam almost snapped at him.
Almost.
Then something moved behind Morris.
The water did not ripple naturally.
It parted.
A shape surged upward.
She was battered.
Her once pristine beauty marred by scorch marks and bruising where green light had struck too close. One shoulder bore a deep, blackened scorch. Strands of her dark hair clung wetly to her face. A faint crack marred the glow beneath her skin.
Yet she was still beautiful.
Impossibly so.
Her eyes, however, held no song.
Only rage.
The fifth siren.
Adam had not seen her before.
She rose from the water without sound and seized Morris by the thighs with clawed hands.
He did not even have time to turn.
Her claws pierced fabric and skin, drawing immediate blood. Morris cried out, grabbing for the ship's exposed railing as she yanked downward with terrifying strength.
She didn't sing.
She didn't lure.
She pulled.
Adam reacted without thinking.
He released Sirena.
His body moved with a fluidity born of instinct rather than conscious choice. He sprinted to the edge and leapt.
His knees tucked midair. His core tightened.
Both feet drove forward at once.
The double kick landed square against the siren's face.
The impact echoed sharply over the water. Her head snapped backward. For a split second, her grip faltered.
She slipped beneath the surface.
Morris gasped and clawed his way upward, hauling himself over the railing with a strained grunt. Blood streaked the backs of his thighs where her claws had raked him.
Adam hit the water moments later.
Cold.
It swallowed him whole.
He surfaced immediately beside Morris, spitting lake water from his mouth.
"You okay?" Adam demanded, breath short.
Morris winced but nodded, still panting. "Just scratched me a little," he said, though the blood running down his legs suggested otherwise. "Thighs."
He extended a hand toward Adam.
Adam swam toward it.
And then something clamped around his ankle.
Hard.
He did not even have time to shout.
The world flipped as he was yanked downward.
The surface shattered above him in a blur of distorted light.
Cold engulfed him entirely.
He kicked, twisting violently, but the siren's grip tightened. Her claws bit deeper into his leg as she dove, dragging him down with brutal force.
The wreck loomed beneath them, sinking debris tumbling through the darkening water. Broken beams and twisted metal drifted in chaotic descent.
She did not swim around the obstacles.
She dragged him through them.
His shoulder slammed against a floating panel. Pain flared hot and immediate. A jagged shard of metal sliced along his side, opening skin. Warmth spread through the water around him, faintly saline against the cold freshwater lake.
Blood.
His blood.
He tried to wrench his leg free.
She twisted sharply and drove him sideways into a half submerged beam. The impact stole what little air remained in his lungs. His vision flashed white.
They descended faster.
Light from the surface thinned into pale distortion above.
He tried to reach down toward her.
She struck him again, this time swinging him bodily into a metal bar protruding from the wreckage.
It hit him square against the temple.
The shock rang through his skull like a struck bell.
His limbs faltered.
For a moment, he forgot which direction was up.
Darkness thickened around them.
Pressure began to mount.
It built slowly at first, a tightening sensation along his ears and jaw. Then it sharpened, drilling inward. His eardrums screamed under the weight.
He clamped his hands over his ears instinctively.
His ear drums popped, Pain exploded.
It was blinding.
The agony snapped him back to awareness with violent clarity. He opened his mouth in a silent yell as bubbles escaped in frantic streams. Water flooded his sinuses. The burn in his lungs intensified, a savage need clawing at his chest.
No air.
No air left.
The siren continued pulling him deeper.
The surface had vanished entirely.
Above him now was only murk and shadow.
Below, deeper darkness.
He was losing strength.
He felt it in the trembling of his arms. In the sluggishness creeping into his muscles. His body, already battered and bleeding, could not sustain this.
He was going to die.
The realization did not come dramatically.
It arrived quietly.
Cold.
He tried to kick again.
Weak.
The pressure pressed in from all sides, compressing thought, compressing will.
He could not outswim her.
He could not outlast her.
If he did nothing, she would drag him until his lungs burst and his heart stopped.
The thought sharpened into something fierce.
He didn't want to die.
Not like this.
Not before the first full moon.
Not before he had even transformed.
He had never seen the wolf he would become.
Never known its color.
Never known if he would stand proud beside Luna one day.
He had not avenged his mother.
Had not proven anything to his father.
He had not even figured out where he stood with Luna.
Would she laugh through tears if she heard he drowned?
The absurdity of it stung.
He could almost hear her teasing voice.
He did not want to die.
The words repeated in his mind with desperate rhythm.
He twisted his body downward instead of up.
Forced himself deeper.
Toward her.
It cost him nearly everything.
His vision tunneled.
He reached.
His fingers brushed her shoulder.
Slipped.
He reached again and caught her throat.
He wrapped his hand around it.
Then his other.
He squeezed.
The siren's eyes flared with fury. She released his ankle and seized his forearms, claws digging into muscle. Pain flared sharp and immediate as she tried to tear his arms away from her neck.
Her grip was strong.
Stronger than his in that moment.
Blood streamed freely from his wounds now, clouding the water around them in dark tendrils.
His healing crawled sluggishly, too slow to compensate for the damage.
Shock crept in.
His strength ebbed.
He was dying.
He knew it.
If this was the end, then he wanted to make sure she would not surface again.
If he went down, she would go with him.
Then we die together.
He tightened his grip.
His vision dimmed further, edges dissolving into shadow.
The siren's face remained heartbreakingly beautiful even twisted in rage. Her lips parted soundlessly. Bubbles escaped in frantic bursts.
Her claws raked deeper into his arms.
He felt muscle tear.
He felt warmth drain from him.
He squeezed harder.
His hands shook.
His lungs convulsed violently.
Spots danced before his eyes.
The siren's resistance faltered.
Her movements slowed.
He felt something shift beneath his palms.
Then a distinct, muted crack reverberated through the water.
Her body jerked once.
Then went slack.
She stopped swimming.
Stopped fighting.
Her hands drifted away from his arms.
Adam did not release her immediately.
He continued squeezing long after her eyes dulled.
Long after her limbs floated lifelessly.
Only when his fingers could no longer maintain tension did his grip loosen.
Her body drifted downward into the dark.
He watched it sink.
His own limbs felt weightless now.
The struggle gone.
The rage gone.
The pain still there, but distant.
Muted.
He felt tired.
So very tired.
I am sorry, Dad.
The thought formed slowly, heavy.
Sorry I could not make you proud.
Sorry I never got it right.
Mom.
I tried.
I really did.
I couldn't avenge you.
In the end, I was just…
A useless son.
Blessed with power.
And dead before the first full moon.
He would never know what color wolf he might have been.
Would never see Bryce and Aiva at the altar.
Would never know if he and Luna might have begun or lasted that long.
He wondered, dimly, if there was an afterlife.
He had gone to church most Sundays.
Did that count?
Or did being what he was condemn him already?
He didn't know.
The lake was quiet now.
Oppressively so.
Pain still existed, but it no longer demanded action.
It simply existed.
He stopped fighting the burn in his lungs.
Stopped resisting the pull of darkness.
His body began to sink.
The last thing he saw was the faintest distortion of light far, far above.
Then even that faded.
Adam's consciousness slipped away.
And the lake closed over him completely.
A cruel yet quiet end to a life.