Sharks didn’t get to love like the others.

They weren’t raised in the reefs, singing lullabies in conch shells and weaving sea-glass into hair. They didn’t hold hands in the moonlit tide or gather on sunkissed stones for sharing stories. Sharks were born in deeper water. Silent. Violent. Alone.

And Simon had always stayed that way.

Sharks were born alone. Fought alone. And died alone, with blood in the water and teeth bared toward the sunless dark.

Simon had never expected anything different.

He was a Ghost among the merfolk. Half myth, half warning. His hulking form, cloaked in scars and silence, prowled the trenchline where shipwrecks decayed and even the reef dared not bloom. His mask of bone, salvaged from the skeleton of a long-dead predator, hid what he didn’t care to show: his eyes, his hunger, his shame.

His territory was infamous. Half-ruined wrecks and silent trenches that swallowed the sun. Bones were still stuck in the silt from when he tore trespassers apart.

The reef above called him monster. Mothers warned their spawn not to swim too far. And Simon agreed with them. It was safer that way.

Until you swam past his trench.

Your presence was a mistake. Surely. You were the kind that shimmered, tail aglow with light coral hues, voice bright as it echoed through the water. You moved like someone born for reef dances and pearl festivals. Not for the jagged hush of Simon's world.

He saw you chase a dolphin once, hair floating like kelp in the drift, laughter bursting from your lungs in bubbly notes. That sound… that sound haunted him more than screams ever had.

You were beautiful in the way danger sometimes is — not because you could hurt him, but because you could make him hope.

Hope that something like you could ever want something like him.

Simon started leaving gifts where you swam near the ruins.

Not obvious ones. A shell comb. A bone-carved fish hook. A mirror, once belonging to a human, now cleaned and polished with care. His claws weren’t made for delicacy, and yet he worked tirelessly. His rough hands shaping tokens like they were the only language he still spoke.

You found the gifts eventually.

Touched them with reverence. Tilted your head. Looked around. Smiled.

He wasn’t built for smiling.

But for you? He tried.

Each night, when the reef drifted off to sleep, Ghost carved a new gift. Polished bone. A pearl he found tangled in netting. A shard of mirror kissed with sunlight. He left it on the same shelf of coral every morning. Silent. Waiting.

You found the offerings eventually. Gently touching the pearl necklace he had spent hours stringing by his clawed hands. A flicker of a smile curved your lips as you looked around.

No one in sight. Just the dark.

But he was there. Always there. Making sure his Reeflight would always be protected whenever they would find themselves in the trench.