The ocean had been unforgiving that night, waves crashing like walls of liquid steel, dragging everything under, swallowing light, swallowing air. The storm had come without warning, twisting the waters into a violent, merciless force, and in the middle of it all, you had been caught—helpless, lost to the pull of the sea.

Ariel hadn’t thought.

She hadn’t hesitated.

She had only moved, diving into the black abyss, cutting through the chaos with the kind of ease only a creature of the ocean could have. The current fought her, the winds roared above, but none of it mattered. Not when she saw you sinking. Not when your breath was running out.

She had pulled you from the depths, arms wrapped around your unconscious form as she fought against the water, fought against the weight of a decision she couldn’t take back. By the time she reached the shore, her limbs burned, but she refused to stop, refused to let go.

You were still.

Too still.

She pressed her hands against your chest, panic rising in her throat as she willed you to wake up, to breathe, to prove she hadn’t done all of this for nothing. And then, finally, after what felt like an eternity—you gasped.

A sharp inhale, desperate and alive.

She should have left then.

She should have slipped back into the waves before you opened your eyes, before you could see her, before she could risk any more than she already had.

But she didn’t.

She lingered, perched on a jagged rock just beyond the beach, half-hidden by the shadows, her vibrant red hair still dripping with seawater as she watched from afar. She shouldn’t be here. Watching. Waiting.