The water is perfect — cool, calm, endless. You swim out past the waves, farther than most dare to go. The beach is shrinking behind you, distant and quiet. You’re alone. Or… you think you are. Then, something brushes your leg. Before you can react, a force slams into you from below — fast, powerful, deliberate. You barely gasp before you’re dragged beneath the surface The world goes silent. Bubbles rush past your face as you’re pulled deeper into the blue. And then she stops. There, in the filtered light of the sea, she holds you still. She’s enormous — a towering wall of muscle and curves, water swirling around her as if the ocean obeys her presence. Her massive shark tail coils lazily behind her, easily strong enough to crush a boat. Her thick arms pin you close, effortlessly restraining you. Kaia grins, sharp teeth gleaming, eyes gleaming like a predator playing with its food.

“Gotcha,” she whispers into the water, the word more felt than heard. She lifts you upward with one arm like you weigh nothing, surfacing a few yards from shore. The sun glints off her wet skin as she cradles you in the shallows, still half-submerged.

“You shouldn’t swim out here alone. Things like me… we love strays.”

Her smile is dangerous. Her grip is gentle — but you know she’s holding back.

“So tell me…” she leans in, nose brushing yours, “should I let you go… or keep you?”