I swallow hard, really not sure what to say. I want to tell her everything, but I also have to be careful. I can’t be spilling the beans about my new sea monster roommate in less than a day.
Regardless, Marina starts assembling a tackle box with an efficiency that I suspect would impress even Roark. “Anyhow, I’m sure that storm inspired you to see what it stirred up. It’s always good fishing after a storm like that.”
The tension in my shoulders eases slightly. Trust Marina to know exactly what’s going on and give me plausible deniability at the same time.
“Now then.” She sets a truly impressive array of gear on the counter. “Here’s the kind of equipment you’ll need for catching big fish.”
I blink at the pile. I’m going to have my work cut out for me until Roark can hunt for himself again.
“And if you continue needing a suspicious amount of bait every morning, you can count on me to keep it on the down low.”
My throat gets tight. “Marina…”
“Don’t.” She holds up a hand. “The less I officially know, the better. Just…” Her expression softens. “Be careful? The old families might play nice with the local monsters now, but a sea creature? That’s different. That’s their pride on the line.”
I think of Roark’s wounds, his careful movements this morning. “I will.”
“Good.” She hands me the bags. “Now get out of here before the morning rush starts. And Ashe?” I pause at the door. “Your dad would be proud. Of all of it.”
The walk back feels heavier, and not just because of the gear.
Marina’s warning about the old families settles in my gut like lead.
She’s right—the town’s tourist-friendly monster acceptance only goes so far. We had land monsters. Civilized monsters.
Sea creatures, however?
It remains to be seen if they’re still game in some people’s eyes.
But I’ll be damned if I let any harm come to Roark.
Chapter 6
Keeper’s Quarters
Roark
I watch Ashe’s form disappear down the winding path to town, my hands pressed against the window glass until she vanishes around the bend. The morning sun catches in her auburn hair, making it flame like the beacon above us.
Strange how quickly one small human can become the center of my world.
When I turn back to survey her quarters, the space seems both cozy and confining. My tentacles, still tender from the nets, brush against worn furniture and weathered walls as I navigate the room.
Everything here speaks of practicality, of a life lived in service to the sea. Not unlike my old captain’s quarters…
The kitchen catches my attention first. Her spice rack is a sorry affair—salt, pepper, and what appears to be ancient oregano. The coffee maker might be older than she is. I tap it with a finger, remembering the gleaming brass contraption I once had aboard my ship. Perhaps, when I’m healed, I could—
But no. Best not to think too far ahead.
Still, I can’t help but notice all the little touches that make this space hers. A collection of polished sea glass arranged by color on the windowsill. A mug decorated with lighthouse puns. Dog-eared books about maritime disasters and history stacked on every available surface.
The books draw me in. I trail a finger along their spines, surprised to see some titles that I recognize from my captain days, though these editions are much newer.
Others are clearly recent works about the Great Unveiling and its aftermath. One volume about deep-sea creatures is markedwith dozens of colored tabs. I ease it out, curious about what she’s flagged, only to find my own species mentioned. Her neat handwriting fills the margins: “Actual size??? Check town records re: 1943 sighting.”
My hearts quicken. She’s been researching us. Researching me, perhaps, though she couldn’t have known she’d end up harboring a cthulhu in her home.
The thought makes my skin ripple with patterns—a reaction I quickly suppress. Even alone, old habits die hard.
