Page 13 of Siren Problems
But even as I say it, I know it’s a lie.
Because something about Calder Thorne ispullingme in.
And not even magic can explain it.
Later,after Mira finally gives up trying to cross-analyze flirtation frequency with ley field volatility, and Kai is offsomewhere slow dancing with a water spirit wearing glow-in-the-dark board shorts, I sit on a driftwood log with my shoes in the sand and the bottle still in my hand.
The potion’s mostly worn off, but the buzz behind my ribs hasn’t.
I catch myself watching Calder again.
He’s moved to the edge of the firelight, arms crossed, expression unreadable. He’s not talking to anyone. Just... observing. Still. Heavy. Like gravity has favorites and he’s one of them.
I hate how easily I can see the shadows in his face now. The way his mouth sets like it’s holding back an apology he won’t give. The way his eyes search the surf like it owes him something.
I take another sip and mutter, “I should be annoyed.”
Because I am. He’s rude, uncooperative, emotionally repressed like it’s a competitive sport.
But underneath all that salt and silence, there’s something else.
Curiosity nips at the edges of my irritation. Why does the ley line bend near him? Why does the sea seem towatchhim when he moves? Why did his voice in the dark make my skin shiver inrecognition?
The more I poke at it, the more I can’t stop poking.
Still, I’m not ready to admit that aloud. Not to Mira, not to Kai, and definitely not to myself.
So I toss the rest of the potion into the sand, dust off my skirt, and say firmly to no one in particular, “This is just a magical anomaly. A hot, frustrating, walking magical anomaly.”
The ocean doesn’t argue.
But it doesn’t disagree either.
CHAPTER 6
CALDER
The ocean screams before it splits.
I feel it in the marrow of my spine, a vibration too deep for human instruments but loud enough to rattle my ribs. The ley line convulses, sharp and hot—like a nerve snapping. The moment the surge hits, I drop the fishing line I’ve been pretending to care about and bolt barefoot across the shore.
It’s not a storm surge. It’s somethingolder. A seaquake.
And Luna’s in the water.
I dive without hesitation.
The tide fights me, angry and unfamiliar. The currents twist like they’re trying tohidesomething, like they’re pushing me away from her. But I know this stretch. I know the rock shelves, the crevices that splinter off toward the altar’s edge. I kick hard, eyes open against the salt.
There. Flash of red wetsuit. Hair floating like seaweed. She’s caught in the vortex of a ley rift, tangled in the magical aftershock like a doll caught in a drain.
She’s not moving.
No.
I reach her, arm looping under hers, and pull with everything I’ve got. The current clings, electric and heavy, and for onebreathless second I feel it: the altar stirring beneath us. Watching.
Then we break free.
