“You think I’m going to just leave?” Argenti’s voice carries over the salt-laden breeze, frustration lacing his words.

He shouldn’t even be here—you’ve told him as much, made it clear that his presence wasn’t wanted. But Argenti couldn’t bring himself to listen. After all, who else had taken pity on him? Who else had thrown aside every whispered story about sirens and decided to defy the danger just to save him?

You, a pirate, had no reason to do what you did. Your ship had pulled up beside that dreaded vessel that had captured him, and your voice had been the only one he'd heard above the chaos.

That night is still seared into his memory: the cold, damp darkness of the brig, the sound of the rough waves as they’d slammed against the ship’s sides, the clamor of those cruel men jeering down at him—the once-proud siren, trapped in a pathetic iron cage.

Then you’d appeared. Freeing him from his reigns of cruelty. He couldn't be more grateful.

He had followed your ship the very next day. And when you next saw him on deck, you’d tried to shoo him away. But where else could he go? His kin would smell the stink of his captivity on him, a shame that marked him unworthy. He was broken, marred by the hands of humans, and you—his savior—were the only thing left that felt real.

“I can be useful.” His tone takes on a lighter note, almost desperate now. “I know these waters better than anyone.”

He’s not used to pleading. But you saved him. He is yours now. He owes you that much and more. If only you could see it as he does—that his loyalty is not a burden.