Page 79 of Siren Problems
The sound is deafening, the kind of sound that doesn’t just echo—itetchesitself into the world. And then the light.
Every color and none. Seafoam and silver. It bursts out from the altar, from the relics, fromus, swallowing everything in a burst of clarity that tastes like salt and grief andrelief.
When the light fades, everything is still.
The wind’s gone.
The sea is gentle, lapping at our knees like it’s trying to apologize for the tantrum. Mira’s relics clatter gently onto the wet sand, now just trinkets again.
Calder breathes like he’s never had air before. His eyes find mine, wide and wet.
“It’s gone,” he says, like he can’t believe it. “Luna... I’m free.”
I can’t speak. I just crash into him, arms wrapped tight, laughing and crying into his chest while he buries his face in my hair.
“I told you,” I choke out, “you don’t have to save yourself alone.”
“No,” he murmurs, holding me like the sea might try to take me back. “Not anymore.”
CHAPTER 26
CALDER
Idon’t remember falling.
One moment I’m singing like it’s the only thing tethering me to this plane—like if I stop, the ocean itself will suck me under. The next, I’m weightless. Empty. Not drowning, not fighting. Just... floating in the dark.
Then her voice cuts through.
“Calder. Calder, come on. Don’t youdarefade out on me now.”
It’s Luna. Fierce. Shaky. Pissed, probably. My first instinct is to smirk, even while half-unconscious. But I can’t lift my head. It’s like my limbs forgot they exist.
“Wake the hell up,” she whispers. “You’re not allowed to save the damn ocean and then keel over like some cursed prince. Not on my watch.”
I let out something between a grunt and a groan. Air rushes into my lungs—easy, like I’ve never known before. My chest rises without pain, without pressure, without magic pulsing like a parasite under my ribs. I can breathe like I’malive.
My eyes blink open. Her face is the first thing I see—silver hair plastered to her cheeks, sand stuck to her jaw, eyes red fromcrying or maybe the salt spray. She’s cradling my face like she’s scared I’ll vanish if she blinks.
“Luna,” I rasp.
Her eyes go wide. “Oh thankgod. I swear, if you’d gone full sea-ghost on me, I would’ve kicked your spectral ass.”
I chuckle, and it hurts, but not in the way I expect. More like a cracked rib from laughing too hard. “Sorry. Cursed guy habits die hard.”
She scowls, but there’s no real fire in it. Her fingers trace the line of my jaw like she’s making sure I’m solid. Real. Here. “You scared me, seaweed.”
“You scared me first,” I say. “Standing in that tide, offering your voice. I thought...”
“I’d get sucked under?” she finishes. “Please. I had a plan. Sort of. I mean, Mira helped, and Kai brought snacks, and Lyle sang backup by accident, and—okay, maybe it wasn’t agreatplan.”
“It worked,” I say simply, and when I say it, something settles inside me. Final. Clean. Like old wounds finally deciding to stop bleeding.
She pulls back just enough to study me. “So? How do you feel?”
I take a long breath. The air doesn’t taste like blood or brine or curse-bound silence. It tastes like her skin—salt and citrus and wild wind. I look out at the water. It’s still. No more glowing ripples. No more warning hums beneath the surface. Just the ocean. My ocean. Ours.
“I feel...” I pause. “Free. And empty. But in a good way. Like there’s space in me again. Space for you.”
