Page 40 of Claimed By the Deep
"I'm considering it now." I move closer, the treasure temporarily forgotten. "You've carried these memories alone for so long."
"Not alone anymore." A slender tentacle wraps gently around my wrist. "Having you here, sharing these discoveries—it transforms everything."
My timer beeps. I set the chest aside and assess my physical state. The shivering has stopped; feeling has returned to my extremities.
"How are you holding up?" Cyreus asks.
"Good. Warmer than I should be at this depth." I smile. "Having a personal heater helps."
"I've been maintaining a thermal boundary around us." His admission surprises me. "It's not difficult, but it's another reason to stick to our time limits."
"You're spending energy keeping me warm," I say, understanding dawning. "That's why you've insisted on these breaks."
"We agreed this would be a true partnership." He covers my hand with his. "That means acknowledging what each of us needs."
Two more dive cycles yield additional treasures—a brass compass, a barometer, silver serving pieces, copper cookware, and crystal decanters somehow preserved intact.
When we finally break the surface near Deep Pockets, I'm exhausted but exhilarated—and most importantly, neither hypothermic nor bent.
"We did it," I say, pulling myself onto the platform. "First official partnership dive—complete success."
"Your timing system worked better than expected," Cyreus admits as he shifts back to human form.
"The warming spots were perfect. I could have done another cycle easily."
"Which is precisely why we're stopping now—while you still feel capable of more." He helps with my tank. "The partnership only functions when both respect the safety protocols."
I turn to him once free of the equipment. "Thank you. For trusting me to know my limits, and for helping me respect them."
"It's getting easier." His hands rest on my shoulders. "To see that your independence doesn't mean recklessness. That caution doesn't equal control."
After securing our finds on deck, I change into dry clothes while Cyreus arranges our discoveries on a waterproof tarp with a towel wrapped around his temporarily human waist.
When I return, he's examining the lockbox with focused attention. "With proper tools, we could open it without damage."
Nearly an hour of patient work passes before the lock mechanism yields with a soft click. Inside, nestled in oilcloth, sits a stack of paper currency—bank notes from another era, remarkably preserved.
"They survived," Cyreus whispers, genuine awe in his voice.
I find myself less focused on the find than on his expression—the unguarded joy of sharing this moment with someone who understands its significance.
"This is why we do this," I say, touching his arm. "Not just for the value, but for moments like this. Connecting with the past."
His gaze shifts from the chest to me. "For me, it's about connecting with the present. With you."
"The treasure is remarkable," I admit, "but it's not why today felt perfect."
"No?" His fingers brush my cheek.
"No. Today was perfect because for the first time, I wasn't alone down there. I had someone who understood both the work and me."
"Does that bother you?" he asks. "That our success required both of us?"
The question reveals how well he understands me—my pride, my stubborn independence, my need to prove myself.
"No." I move closer, resting my palms against his chest. "It makes me grateful we found each other. That we figured out how to work together without either sacrificing who we are."
His arms pull me against him. "I never expected this. A partner who sees me—truly sees me—and chooses to build something together rather than flee in terror."
