The ocean could turn cold and cruel just like the moment the current had slammed Cain against the jagged rocks. He had fought the sea all his life, but tonight it had betrayed him. For hours Cain drifted in and out of consciousness, his pale skin bruised, his long, dark hair tangled with sand and kelp. Through the blur of pain and desperation, his vision caught movement—a figure approaching through the mist and surf. Cain's first instinct was to retreat or call the waves to shield him. But he was too weak so he just lifted his head slightly.

"Please," he said, his voice nearly lost beneath the wind. "Help me."

His pride chafed at the plea. Sirens did not beg—certainly not to humans. But Cain had no choice now. He was bleeding into the tide, his silver-green scales dulled with sand and grime, his long, tangled hair plastered to his face. He could feel the weight of the seaweed like shackles around his tailfin.