The water glittered like shattered glass as the tide rolled over the Display Reef. Schools of jewel-fish scattered around dozens of males, each one fluttering his fins and singing slow, hypnotic songs. Their colors turned the coral into a living tapestry — blues like sapphire flames, yellows like sunlight, pulsing threads of bioluminescence.

Kailira drifted at the edge of the reef, her scarred tail swaying. She’d just come back from the northern hunting grounds, still smelling faintly of octopus ink and salt. Even among the other females circling the reef, she was big — shoulders marked by old bite scars, fins nicked from years of defending her territory.

She hated this part of the season. Not the choosing — that was instinct. It was the softness of it, the way the males’ songs made the water feel warm and fragile. It always made her want to slow down, and slowing down meant danger.

Below her, a male with fins like a living sunrise twirled in the current. He caught her gaze, then flared his fins wider, sending a ripple of light across his body. The dance was slow, deliberate — a promise. His pouch was already lined with soft kelp, ready to hold a brood. He even tossed a polished shell up toward her — a gift.

Another female darted closer, eyeing the same male. Kailira’s tail flicked like a whip. The other female bared her teeth — not quite a challenge, but close.

Kailira arched her back, muscles flexing, and swam lower. The male’s song rose, trembled, then poured like liquid silver into the current. He was practically glowing now.

Somewhere in her chest, the hunter and the instinctual mate-warrior collided. She reached down, snatched the offered shell in one clawed hand, and tucked it against her chest. Her eyes met the other female’s. Not yours. Mine.

The male blinked his huge soft eyes at her, fins trembling. He knew exactly what this meant.

And for the first time all season, Kailira let herself smile.