Days had blurred into one another, each morning heavier than the last. The memory of Siren's embrace lingered in Jena's chest like an echo, a warmth she could never touch again. Yet reality refused to relent, pressing her down like an unforgiving tide.
That morning, she had gone to the hotel, quietly hoping for a fresh start. But fate had other plans. Calvin had found her alone in the guest room, dusting the polished table. In his hand, a small velvet box glinted under the harsh fluorescent light — the diamond necklace of his new girlfriend.
"You took this, didn't you?" His voice was soft, but venomous, curling around her like a snake in the shadows.
"I… I didn't touch it!" Jena's hands trembled as she carefully opened the box. The necklace lay exactly where it had been — untouched, sparkling cruelly under the light.
"Lies," Calvin hissed, stepping closer, his dark eyes piercing, unblinking. "Just like your mother. Always trying to look innocent, pretending the world can't see what you really are. You're a thief, Jena. Always have been. Always will be."
The words crashed over her like waves, dragging her under. A memory surfaced — her father, years ago, standing in Calvin's grand living room, scolding his mother. The accusation of theft had been unfair, bitter, yet real in Calvin's mind. That lie had shaped him into the man before her, cold and calculating, cruel beyond reason. And now, that shadow fell over her, the weight pressing into her chest, as if the world itself branded her guilty.
Jena's throat tightened, tears stinging her eyes. She wanted to scream, to reach for Siren, to pour everything — her fear, her grief, her exhaustion — into that untouchable, radiant presence. She remembered the soft curl of Siren's violet tail brushing against her arm, the faint shimmer of silver hair catching moonlight, the quiet way Siren's lips had pressed against her forehead — a tenderness that burned into her memory.
But Siren had not come. Not that day. Not when she needed her most. The solitude pressed down like a tide threatening to drown her, and Jena bent her knees slightly, clutching the feather duster as though it were a lifeline.
"I… I can't… I can't do this," she whispered, her voice breaking. Calvin's shadow loomed, predatory, unyielding, and she felt utterly trapped.
Later, she found herself wandering the streets, searching desperately for a place to stay. Each alleyway felt narrower, the city's hum mocking her. Her thoughts briefly turned to Calvin's house — maybe, just maybe, she could plead for shelter.
The instant she approached, Calvin's smirk stretched across his face like a knife. "You want a room?" he said, leaning lazily against the polished doorframe. "You can have it… but only if you do exactly what I say. No complaints. No hesitation. Or you get nothing. Nothing."
Jena's stomach churned. The air seemed poisoned by his intentions. "I… I'll pass," she said, standing tall despite her shaking hands. Refusing him was the only thing that felt remotely like freedom.
Her only option became a cramped, hostile girls' hostel at the edge of town. The peeling wallpaper, dripping faucets, and low hum of constant complaints greeted her like an unkind welcome. The other residents eyed her with suspicion, as though she had already committed every crime Calvin had accused her of.
She spent the day moving slowly through narrow halls, her chest tight, every step heavy with exhaustion and dread. She longed for Siren, for someone untouchable to hold her, someone who could shield her from the cruelty that seemed to follow her everywhere. The memory of Siren's violet gaze, the curve of her smile, the subtle touch that had left her heart racing, became her lifeline.
At night, curled on her narrow cot, body trembling, heart aching with longing, Jena whispered into the darkness, "I… I need you… I need you here."
The violet shell she carried in her palm seemed to pulse faintly, as if resonating with her plea. At the bus station the next morning, she pressed it tightly against her ear, her lips moving as if the shell could truly hear her.
"Siren… I'm here. Please… come…"
The bus rumbled past, sunlight gleaming off its metal, mocking her. Minutes stretched, and Jena's heart sank. The sea remained indifferent.
Tears streamed down her cheeks as she ran alongside the departing bus, screaming into the wind, "Why… why did you make the sea rise with tides if you knew the pearls wouldn't stay?"
Her fingers slipped from the shell, dropping it into the sand — a violet symbol of frustration, of helplessness, of longing she could no longer contain. The days without Siren had been unbearable. And yet, in the ache, she recognized something terrifying and beautiful: love. Helpless, hopeless, all-consuming. She had fallen for someone untouchable, mysterious, and unreachable.
Somewhere beyond the waves, Siren stirred. Silent, deliberate, carrying love untold, a desire to protect unbroken, moving toward the fractured shores of Jena's life — even if Jena could not see it yet.