It was the kind of day sailors wrote songs about—calm waves, a soft breeze, sunlight warm enough to kiss your skin but not burn it. Perfect for a quiet bit of fishing, far from the noise of the shore. The beach you’d launched from was now just a faint blur on the horizon.

Then came a faint splash—too deliberate to be the sea playing tricks.

You turned, and nearly dropped your rod. A merman was perched casually on the back of your boat, dripping seawater and curiosity in equal measure. His eyes gleamed, studying you like you were the one who didn’t belong there.