The air in front of Hannah's shop shimmered with heat, even though the sun had already started to dip behind the row of rusted zinc rooftops. The smell of fried akara and engine oil drifted from the street corner.
"Stop! Leave me alone!" Muhammed screamed, his voice cracking as his fingers clamped around the rusting pole beside the shop. Two men — both built like they worked at the docks — yanked at him. His feet scraped against the dusty ground, kicking up little clouds.
Behind them, a short, bald man with a ring of stubborn grey hair around his skull shouted, "I told you, you'll sleep in prison tonight!" That was Mr. Adelaja — the type who enjoyed every second of his own authority.
A crowd was already gathering. It was what Nigerians did best: circle around other people's business like moths to light.
Hannah came running. Her red wrapper fluttered in the wind, her light-skinned face flushed with panic. "Let my son go!" she cried. She grabbed the nearest man's arm — and was rewarded with a backhand so hard it sent her sprawling into the dirt.
The world went still.
"LEAVE ME ALONE!" Muhammed's voice came out deeper, older — not entirely human. He shoved both men at once. It shouldn't have been possible, yet they flew back like leaves caught in a storm.
The air shifted. The hairs on his arms rose.
The sky answered.
Two bolts of lightning ripped downward with a roar that drowned out the screams. The men didn't even have time to move. When the blinding light faded, they lay smoking on the ground.
Chaos erupted. People screamed and scattered, sandals slapping against the street. Muhammed's heart pounded as he stumbled backwards, searching for his sister in the mess of fleeing bodies.
"Muhammed!" she called, running to him.
"What's happening?" he asked, but his voice felt far away, like he was speaking underwater.
She stared at his face. "Your eyes… they're blue."
"What? What do you mean?"
She pulled out his phone and turned the camera toward him. The boy who stared back no longer had brown eyes. They were a deep, impossible ocean blue, glowing faintly like the surface of water under moonlight.
Half a world away, in New Jersey, music thumped against the walls of a backyard pool party. Tyler stood at the edge, hands in his hoodie pockets despite the humid night, AirPods blocking out the noise. Around him, kids splashed in the pool, shrieking with laughter, beer bottles clinking together.
Then he heard it.
"Leave me alone!"
The voice was high and desperate. Across the patio, three broad-shouldered boys were kicking someone curled on the ground. No one moved to help — not here. The Invincibles didn't get touched. Their parents could buy and sell half the town.
Tyler's stomach sank. "Sam?"
Sam lifted his bruised face just long enough for Tyler to recognise him — his best friend, his co-op gaming partner, the one person who made him feel like he belonged somewhere.
Tyler pushed forward. One of the Invincibles swung at him. Pain exploded across his cheek, but he hit back anyway.
"Stop, Tyler!" Sam wheezed. "Go. I'll handle this."
But Tyler didn't move. Something in him had cracked open. His skin prickled with a creeping cold, as if the summer night had just dropped to midwinter.
The bullies shivered. Water droplets on their skin crystallised into ice. It spread like frost racing across glass, locking their limbs in jagged, glittering cages.
The whole party froze — literally and figuratively. Tyler stared, chest heaving, until a warm hand touched his shoulder.
Maria.
He blinked, and the ice stopped growing.
"What just happened?" he muttered, crouching beside Sam.
Sam stared at him strangely. "Your eyes…"
"What about them?"
"They're blue."
Tyler shook his head. "No, they're green, always—" He caught sight of himself in the reflection of the sliding glass door. His irises shimmered blue, deep and calm like a still lake — and nothing like the boy he was moments ago.
In the quiet suburbs of Vancouver, the house smelled faintly of eucalyptus tea and stale winter air. Marina carried a chipped bowl of soup down the narrow hall, careful not to spill. The sound of the ticking clock was almost louder than her own breathing.
Her mother's eyes softened when Marina entered. "Adam and Janet?" she asked.
"In the living room, doing homework," Marina lied. They were arguing again. She set the soup down, watched her mother drink, and then slipped away before her chest could tighten any further.
She found Adam and Janet mid-argument over a pencil. She was about to scold them when the crash came — glass shattering in the kitchen.
Two men were there. Strangers. One rifled through drawers; the other stepped toward her with a smile that made her skin crawl.
"Get out of my house," Marina said.
He grabbed her arm. Adam and Janet appeared in the doorway, eyes wide. Marina's pulse pounded. She tried to twist free — and something inside her gave way.
A roar filled her ears. The kitchen tap burst open. Water didn't just pour — it rose, spiralling upward like a living thing. It wrapped around the intruders and slammed them into the wall.
They thrashed, sputtering, but the water kept them pinned.
Marina staggered back, gasping. The water lost form, the air smelling of metal and water.
"Marina…" Adam's voice shook. "Your eyes."
"What about them?"
"They're blue," Janet whispered.
Marina turned toward the oven door, catching her reflection. Staring back was a girl she almost didn't recognise — with eyes like glacial depths, glowing faintly in the dim kitchen light.
None of them knew it yet.
But in three corners of the world, the ocean had chosen its children.
And the tide was coming for them all.