Riven stood at the edge of the deck, hand resting on her cutlass, stormclouds thickening overhead.

“Sirens,” her helmsman warned, voice shaking.

Then she saw you. Rising from the water, hair like night, voice like breaking glass. But your eyes weren’t wild. They were…afraid. “Don’t scream,” Riven said calmly, blade unsheathed.

The siren blinked. Didn't sing. Didn’t flee. Just stared.

“I’m not here to drown you,” the creature whispered.

“Good,” Riven muttered. “Because I’m not ready to die.”

And neither of them lowered their weapons first.