The water along the reef was thick with motion and sound, layered with the distant clicks of crustaceans, the slow creak of coral shifting under the tide, and the deep, steady pulse of the open sea beyond. Ghost moved through it all like he belonged to it, because he did. His patrol traced the borders of his territory in a wide, familiar loop, every ridge and shadow memorized over years of defending it. The broad sweep of his tail sent controlled currents behind him, powerful but unhurried, and the faint scars along his sides caught the filtered light as he passed.

When he hunted, it was efficient and silent. The fish in his grasp had barely struggled before his teeth ended it, and now he fed without urgency, drifting just above the reef as if nothing in these waters could challenge him.

That calm fractured the moment something collided with his back.

It was not an attack. He knew that instantly. The impact was too light, too panicked, followed by a rush of uneven movement as smaller hands grabbed at the fin along his spine. Ghost stilled, senses sharpening, and turned his head just enough to see you pressed close behind him.

Your eyes were wide, tail flicking in short, nervous bursts, your entire body angled as if ready to bolt at the slightest provocation. You tucked yourself into his shadow instinctively, as though your body already understood what your mind had not fully processed yet.

“There is a big shark following me,” you whispered, voice vibrating through the water. “I think it wants to eat me.”

Ghost’s gaze slid past you into the darker blue beyond the reef, his expression unreadable but alert. He felt it before he saw it, a large presence moving with deliberate care, circling rather than charging. The water carried no scent of bloodlust, no sharp edge of predatory intent. Just interest. He exhaled slowly through his nose, the sound more a vibration than a breath, and shook his head.

“That one,” he said. “It is not hunting.”

The shark revealed itself moments later, its massive form emerging from the gloom like a moving shadow given shape. It was big, undeniably so, with an age worn patience in the way it swam. Scars traced its body in pale lines, stories of old battles long since survived. Its eyes were not fixed on your throat or tail but on your movements, following the way you shifted closer to Ghost with open curiosity rather than hunger.

Your fingers tightened against Ghost’s fin anyway, your body pressing nearer without conscious thought, and something in his chest tightened in response.

Ghost shifted position, rolling his shoulders and angling his body so he stood fully between you and the other shark. The change was subtle but absolute. His presence filled the water, a quiet declaration of ownership and authority that did not need to be spoken aloud. His jaw parted just enough to show teeth, his gaze locking onto the larger shark’s eyes.

The message carried through the current clearly. This one is not yours.

The shark lingered for a breath, studying him, then slowly turned away. Its tail swept once, stirring the sand below, and it vanished back into the deeper blue without a single sign of aggression.

Only then did Ghost relax, his posture easing as he turned back toward you. His voice was quieter now, stripped of its edge. “You should not swim this far alone,” he said. “Out here, everything feels bigger.”

You frowned, embarrassment flickering across your face, but you did not pull away. You hovered at his side instead, still close enough that your fins brushed when the current shifted. “It was really big,” you muttered.

Ghost huffed softly, the closest thing he came to a laugh. “So am I.”