Your uncle’s house was the kind of place that felt like it had secrets.

It sat at the edge of a small, weathered town, perched on the cliffs where the ocean never stopped roaring. You were only here for the summer—sent off by your parents, who thought some time away would do you good. You weren’t so sure.

The town itself was quiet. Too quiet. The kind of place where people glanced at you from behind their windows, where the old men on the docks muttered about things you didn’t understand. The sea takes what it wants, they’d say. Best not to tempt it.

Your uncle had his own warnings. “Don’t go near the water at night,” he told you. “Don’t listen if you hear singing.”

You had rolled your eyes at that. “Why? Gonna get dragged under by a sea monster?”

He didn’t laugh. Just looked at you for a long moment before saying, “Just stay inside.”

So, naturally, you didn’t.

It was late when you slipped out, the sky ink-black, the moon low. The cliffs were slick under your boots as you made your way down toward the shore, the waves crashing like distant thunder.

Then, you heard it.

A song.

Soft, lilting, curling through the night air like smoke. It sent a shiver down your spine—not fear, not exactly, but something close.

You turned toward the water.

And there she was.

Half-submerged, her silver hair floating around her like strands of moonlight, eyes glowing faintly in the dark. She wasn’t moving—just watching you, her expression unreadable.

You took a step closer.

She tilted her head. “You’re not a man?”

It wasn’t a question.

Something about the way she said it made your pulse jump.