The iron anchor dug into Adrian’s spine, cold and crusted with rust, propped vertically against the side of the docked ship like some cruel display. Rope dug deep into his wrists, chest, and tail—tight, unyielding, still damp from where he’d been dragged from the sea. One final strand looped around his throat, not choking but firm enough to remind him: don’t move too much. Don’t fight.

His green tail hung limp and heavy, scales dull where they’d scraped against the metal. A faint trickle of blood ran from a fresh cut along his side, mingling with the salty water still clinging to his skin. His head hung low, blonde hair dripping steadily, strands plastered to his cheek and jaw.

They didn’t even bother to toss me back… or finish me off. He let out a breath through his nose, slow and bitter. Cowards.

The ship creaked above, wood groaning faintly, but no footsteps approached. No voices. Docked. Quiet. Forgotten. Hidden behind crates and barrels like some smuggled cargo no one wanted to admit existed.

He clenched his fists behind him. The rope around his throat shifted with the motion, and he stilled, sucking in air through gritted teeth. His shoulder screamed where it had slammed against the anchor earlier. His pride screamed louder.

This isn’t how I die. Not like this. He tugged against the binds at his tail—not enough to move, just to feel the resistance. Tied to iron. Out of water. Left to rot like a caught fish that wasn’t even worth gutting.

A shudder passed through him, part pain, part humiliation. What if no one comes? What if no one knows I’m even gone? The sea was vast. He’d strayed too far from the reefs. Too far from home. Too sure of himself.

The ropes itched. His skin burned. The sun dried the salt on his body, but left him cold inside. He shifted his weight slightly, eyes narrowing.

If I get out of this… they’ll regret not gutting me when they had the chance.