His expression shifts, something ancient and weary passing through his eyes. “I have lived long enough to see hatred both inflamed and defused. Sometimes the best response is patience.”
I study his face, trying to understand. Part of me wants to argue—to insist that we should fight for what’s right. But I also hear what he’s not saying: it might be best to not draw too much attention.
“Fine,” I sigh, letting my head fall forward to rest against his chest. “I’ll drop it for now.”
His hand comes up to cradle the back of my head, gentle but secure.
We finish our bathing in comfortable silence, the waterfall providing background music. By the time we return to the cabin, the sun is starting to dip toward the horizon.
Roark proves yet again that he’s a surprisingly competent chef, preparing the shellfish with herbs I don’t recognize and a deftness that suggests decades of practice.
We eat on the small porch, watching the light change over the water while sharing stories—me about growing up with parents who loved the sea more than land, him about his adventures captaining ships under his human guise.
“Did you ever miss it?” I ask, setting aside my emptied plate. “The ocean, I mean. During all those years pretending to be human.”
“Every moment,” he admits, his gaze fixed on the horizon. “I would steal away when I could—dive from the ship under the cover of darkness, swim to depths no human could follow. But those were brief respites.”
I draw my knees up to my chest, wrapping my arms around them. “And now? Do you miss being among them—us—now that you’re back in the water?”
He’s quiet for a long moment. “I miss certain aspects. Conversation. Music. The peculiar human talent for finding joy in adversity.” His tentacle shifts, brushing against my ankle. “But I don’t miss the pretense. The constant vigilance required to maintain the illusion.”
The sun is nearly gone now, the first stars appearing in the darkening sky. Neither of us has moved to light the lanterns inside the cabin, letting the twilight envelop us instead.
“Where does that leave us?” I ask, voicing the question that’s been hanging between us since he left the lighthouse a week ago. “This arrangement… It can’t go on forever. You swimming by occasionally, me hiking out here when I can get away. Hiding.”
Roark turns to me, his eyes reflecting starlight. “No. It cannot.”
The simple agreement lands like a stone in my stomach. I knew this—of course I knew this—but hearing him say it makes it real in a way it wasn’t before.
“So what happens?” My voice comes out smaller than I intended. “We just… enjoy this while it lasts?”
“I have lived nearly a century, Ashe. In that time, I’ve learned that certainty is an illusion humans cling to. The sea teaches a different lesson—that change is the only constant.”
“That’s a very philosophical way of saying you don’t know either,” I reply, unable to keep a note of frustration from my voice.
His mouth quirks in that almost-smile. “Indeed.” The tentacle around my wrist slides up my arm, a soft caress. “But I do know this: what exists between us is rare. I wouldn’t relinquish it without a fight.”
There’s something primal in his gaze now, the ancient predator beneath the civility making itself known.
“What are you suggesting?” I ask, my heart racing.
He stands, pulling me gently to my feet. “That tonight, we set aside concerns of practicality. We have the rest of our lives to strategize. Tonight…”
His tentacle slides around my waist, drawing me closer until I’m pressed against the smooth surface of his torso.
“Tonight I wish to show you my world. If you are willing.”
I frown slightly, confused. “Your world?”
His gaze shifts toward the darkening sea. “There are experiences possible only beneath the waves. Sensations your kind rarely experience.” His tentacle tightens slightly around me. “I can share them with you. Keep you safe. If you trust me.”
The implications hit me all at once—he’s talking about taking me into the ocean. At night. To do… what, exactly?
“You want to go swimming? Now?” I glance dubiously at the water, inky black in the gathering darkness. “I’m not exactly equipped for deep-sea diving, Roark.”
His expression softens. “I would never risk your safety. There is a way—a gift my kind can bestow.” His hand comes up to cup myface. “It is temporary but complete. For a short time, you could experience the depths as I do.”
My pulse quickens. “You’re talking about some kind of transformation?”
