Page 28 of Siren Problems
Her taste lingers—wild, electric, like ozone and adrenaline. Her scent’s on me, subtle and sharp: citrus and skin and something I’d let burn me alive if I wasn’t so damned afraid.
I press my forehead to the stone.
“Stupid,” I mutter. “Stupid, stupid?—”
Because I’ve been careful.
For years.
No voice. No touch. No room for want.
And then she shows up with her storm-colored eyes and her defiant little smirk and her cursedquestions, and suddenly the silence I’ve clung to doesn’t feel like protection anymore.
It feels like a prison.
I exhale hard. Try to ground myself.
But the guilt slides in anyway.
Heavy.
Smothering.
Because what if this is how it starts?
The curse didn’t just strip my voice—it marked me. Tied every fiber of my magic to the part of me thatfeels. Thatdesires. Thatloves.
If I give in... if Iwanther too much...
She could drown in me.
Literally.
I feel the tremble in my fingertips before I register it’s not cold anymore—it’s magic. Thrumming just under my skin, aching to reach for her again. To call her name and watch hercome.
That’s the danger.
That’s what the cursewants.
To destroy.
My breathing’s ragged now. I slide down the wall and sit on the wet stone, arms braced on my knees, head bowed.
I should’ve pushed her away the moment she stepped into this town.
Should’ve let the sea take the relic.
Should’ve never let her touch me.
But gods...
I remember her hands on my jaw. Her breath at my throat. That whisper ofCalderlike she knew me before the silence.
No one says my name like that anymore.
Not like a question.
Not like a prayer.
