The darkness did not swallow him this time.
It rearranged itself.
The rusted hull, the damp air, the echo of water slapping broken metal all dissolved into something sterile and fluorescent. Adam blinked once, twice, and found himself seated at a metal table bolted to the floor.
Cold steel pressed against his forearms.
He looked down.
An orange prison jumpsuit.
The fabric itched at his neck. The cuffs around his wrists were real enough to bite. The room was windowless, painted in a shade of gray that seemed designed to erase personality. A camera blinked red in the upper corner. The hum of overhead lighting vibrated faintly, steady and oppressive.
His heart thudded unevenly.
"How did I get here?" he muttered.
The door opened with a muted mechanical click.
She stepped inside.
Not naked.
Not bound.
She wore a tailored corporate suit, charcoal gray fitted precisely to her frame. A crisp white blouse beneath it. Red heels that clicked softly against the concrete floor. Her burgundy hair had been swept into a coiled bun at the nape of her neck, sleek and deliberate. A pair of delicate glasses rested on her nose, giving her an almost academic composure that clashed violently with the memory of claws and serrated teeth.
She looked mature.
Polished.
Unsettlingly cute.
She carried a leather briefcase.
Adam stared.
She pulled out the chair opposite him and sat with effortless grace, crossing one leg over the other. The heel tapped lightly once as she set the briefcase on the table and opened it. She removed a file, flipped it open, skimmed its contents, then closed it with a soft snap.
Her green eyes lifted to meet his.
"Adam Greene."
His stomach dropped.
He hadn't told her that.
"Where are we?" he demanded. "How did we get here? And when did you get a law degree?"
She tilted her head slightly, a faint smile ghosting across her lips.
"I have no idea," she replied calmly. "This is your construct. I'm just using the blocks you've given me."
He blinked.
"My construct?"
She tapped the file lightly against the table. "You think I'm speaking English. You think this room exists. That's because your brain is translating my signal into something it understands."
He stared at her, trying to follow.
"You can read minds?" he asked sharply.
She let out a small laugh. "I wish. It would make this a whole lot easier."
Her fingers drummed once against the table.
"You told me your name," she continued. "Out there. When you tried to calm me. I just listened."
I did?
He felt heat rise to his face.
"And this," she gestured around the interrogation room, "is me projecting into your head. My song establishes the bridge. Your brain fills in the details."
His pulse quickened.
"So I'm not actually here."
"No," she said simply. "You're still standing in that rusted room with a blade in your hand."
Cold crept through him.
"And my friend?" he asked carefully.
She watched him for a moment, expression unreadable.
"If you lie to me," she said softly, "your friend dies."
The room flickered.
The interrogation space dissolved into an overlay of reality.
He saw himself.
Standing rigid in the wreck's lower chamber. Pupils blown wide. Face blank.
Morris was in a choke hold, struggling uselessly against Adam's superior strength. His ear plugs were gone. His movements frantic but futile.
In Adam's hand was the blade.
On her silent command, he saw his own arm lift.
The blade hovered beside Morris's head.
The image was too calm.
Too controlled.
His stomach lurched.
The scene snapped back to the interrogation room.
Adam's breathing had turned ragged.
"Morris is okay," he insisted. "He still had his plugs in."
She giggled lightly.
"He doesn't anymore."
Adam swallowed hard.
"We were trying to help you," he blurted. "We escaped from the others. We got stranded. We thought you were in danger."
Her expression shifted, skepticism sharpening her features.
"You were pointing a blade at me."
"For the ropes," he shot back. "I was going to cut you free."
She leaned back slightly.
"Why would a human free me?"
He frowned.
"Because you were in a cage," he said. "Because that's what you do when someone's tied up and about to die."
She studied him.
Longer than was comfortable.
Silence pressed in around them.
He tried to stand, frustrated.
Metal snapped into existence around his wrists and ankles. Cuffs materialized, chaining him to the chair. The weight of them felt heavy, final.
He exhaled sharply.
"Fine," he muttered. "What's your name?"
She paused.
For a moment, her composure faltered.
Then she opened her mouth and produced a melody.
It was soft. Light. A sequence of lilting tones interwoven with faint clicking pulses, like a dolphin trying to hum a pop song underwater. The sound shimmered in the sterile air, beautiful and impossible.
Adam winced faintly.
"I… don't know how to say that."
Her lips curved. "Neither do I, in your language."
He considered her.
The interrogation room flickered at the edges, unstable.
"Sirena," he said finally. "To me, that sounds like what your name feels like. Close enough."
She repeated it quietly.
"Sirena."
There was something almost pleased in the way she said it.
The cuffs around his wrists dissolved.
He leaned forward slightly.
"Why were you in a cage?" he asked. "And why do you have legs?"
Her gaze hardened.
She did not answer immediately.
"I'm not here to hurt you," he added. "I just want to get my friend back to the island. That's it."
She watched him carefully.
Judgment.
Assessment.
Then, unexpectedly, she sighed.
"You're telling the truth," she said, almost disappointed. "I can sense intent. You mean what you say. Your motives are… clean."
He wasn't sure whether to take that as a compliment.
"That's boring," she added.
He blinked.
"Sorry?"
She ignored that.
"I am the princess of my clan," she said instead.
The interrogation room shifted slightly, the walls darkening as if her words carried weight.
"My mother is queen. A master of the mystic arts. I inherited some of it. That's why I can shift. Tail to legs when dry. That's why my range can affect creatures stronger than humans."
Her eyes sharpened.
"Tonight, the adults went hunting. Only the young remained."
Her voice cooled.
"They hate me... The other young"
Adam listened carefully.
"They believe I am favored. That I am better. They resent the difference."
Her jaw tightened.
"They bound me. Tied me. Put me in that cage. Suspended it so the rope fed back into the water."
A flash of memory struck him, the thick rope leading from stern to pulley.
"They meant to leave you there?" he realized.
"To die," she confirmed calmly.
"I only saw two," Adam said slowly.
"There are more," she replied.
She did not elaborate.
The way she said it made the number feel wrong.
Uncomfortable.
More than two.
More than manageable.
The interrogation room dissolved completely.
Reality rushed back in.
Rust.
Water.
Cold.
Adam staggered slightly as her song released its hold. His head throbbed violently, a migraine blooming behind his eyes. He reached up instinctively, fingers brushing damp skin.
Morris stood a few feet away, wide eyed.
"Yo, you good?" Morris asked, voice edged with concern.
Adam blinked hard.
"I'm okay," he said, voice rough. "She's… she's not our enemy."
Morris frowned immediately, gripping the blade tighter.
"Man, you trippin'. She tried to murk you."
"She targeted me," Adam replied. "You weren't the focus."
Morris hesitated.
Before Adam could explain further, the air shifted.
A sound rose from outside.
Not one voice.
Many.
The wreck vibrated faintly as layered melodies surged from every direction. The sound was overwhelming, converging from the lake's surface, circling the ship in tightening formation.
Adam cried out, dropping to one knee as the harmonics stabbed into his skull. His heightened hearing betrayed him again, amplifying every frequency until it felt like his brain was being shaken inside bone.
Morris stiffened.
His pupils dilated.
He stood.
Moved toward the exit.
"Stop!" Adam shouted, but the word drowned in pain.
Sirena's voice rose in response.
Clear.
Powerful.
Her melody cut through the others, not louder but sharper, intercepting Morris mid step. His body jerked as if caught between opposing currents. He began walking backward involuntarily, trembling under the strain.
Adam forced himself upright, stumbling toward him. His vision swam. His nose burned.
He shoved the ear plugs back into Morris's ears.
Morris collapsed instantly, free from the sonic tug.
Adam dropped beside him, pressing his own hands to his temples.
Warm liquid slid over his lip.
He touched his nose.
Blood.
He looked at Sirena.
How was this possible?
The answer did not come as sound.
It came as understanding.
A transfer of sensation.
Prolonged exposure damages the brain.
The knowledge was not spoken, but felt. Prolonged resonance disrupts neural pathways. Hemorrhage. Cognitive decay.
Morris cannot hear them again.
Adam inhaled sharply.
He glanced at Sirena.
Her fear pressed into him next.
If they catch me, they will kill me.
The emotion was vivid. Heavy. Sharp as cold water in lungs.
"How are you doing this?" he whispered.
Her reply echoed directly within him.
Communication begins before words. Thought is electrical. I map it. I reflect it back.
Echolocation, but deeper. She was not merely hearing sound. She was reading the pre verbal neural pulses that formed intention. Aligning her frequency to them. Transmitting her own in return.
He understood.
Mostly.
Enough.
The singing outside intensified, circling closer.
The hull creaked under the pressure of water shifting around it.
Adam shoved ear plugs into his own ears again, dulling the agony to something survivable.
He looked at Morris, unconscious but breathing.
He looked at Sirena, standing tense, eyes glowing faintly beneath her human disguise.
He felt her terror.
He felt the approaching threat.
He felt the clock running out.
He could not leave Morris.
He could not leave Sirena.
The enemies had multiplied.
The wreck was a trap.
And the lake was closing in.
Adam stood there, the weight of choice pressing down on him like deep water, unsure which direction would lead to survival.
Outside, the song tightened its circle.