The wind carried the tang of the ocean even in the city. Jovelle felt it first thing that morning, brushing against her face as she crossed the quad, carrying a stack of textbooks that threatened to topple. Her ears tingled with the faint hum of water, subtle and insistent, like an echo from somewhere below the surface of consciousness.
It was one of those mornings where Princeton seemed suspended between ordinary and unreal. The sun had barely risen, casting long shadows across the brick buildings, and the world smelled of rain and damp leaves. Students hurried by, bundled in jackets, coffee in hand, talking about lectures, deadlines, or last night's parties. Jovelle moved among them, nodding, smiling politely, but always feeling a fraction apart—like she was watching from just beyond their world.
The dream came to her before she even reached her first class. Not fully, not yet, but in fragments: the black shore, the whispering voice, the pale figure of the woman standing just beyond the waves. She shivered despite the warmth of the morning sun, gripping her bag straps tighter.
It is time.
She shook her head, muttering under her breath. "Not today. Not yet."
By the time she entered the lecture hall, the dream had faded to a low hum in her chest. The class was large and bustling. Jovelle chose her usual seat near the back, where she could observe without being seen. She scribbled notes mechanically, copying diagrams from the projector, but her thoughts drifted like currents beneath the surface.
She couldn't ignore it anymore: there was a pattern to the dreams. A pull, subtle yet undeniable, leading her toward something—or someone—she did not yet understand.
The professor's voice droned on about ecological interactions in coastal systems, but her attention wavered. She scanned the room, noticing details she had never seen: the faint salt smell clinging to the hair of students who lived near the river, the rhythm of footsteps in the hall, a subtle vibration she felt more than heard. It was as though the world itself pulsed in harmony with something far below her perception.
Her notebook sat open, pen poised, but she didn't write. Her thoughts were elsewhere, tugged toward the distant memory of waves and shadows.
After class, she wandered through the campus, purposely avoiding the lakeside path where the water always seemed to stir beneath her gaze. Yet even away from the water, she felt it—the pull, like a tug at the edge of her senses. She paused near a fountain, brushing damp strands of hair from her face, and froze.
There.
Not in the water, not yet.
A figure passed across her peripheral vision, tall, broad-shouldered, walking with an unusual stillness. Not a student, not a familiar professor. Just a human—yet something about him felt… different.
Jovelle's pulse quickened. She turned her head, just slightly, careful not to stare. The figure was gone.
She exhaled slowly, telling herself it was nothing.
And yet, she felt it—the ripple of presence, faint but unmistakable, like a wave brushing her consciousness. Not dangerous. Not threatening. Just… present. Attentive. Connected.
Her hand tightened around the strap of her backpack. "Stop," she whispered. But her own voice sounded strange, carried faintly on the wind as though the world were amplifying it.
She moved on, forcing herself to pay attention to mundane things: the chatter of friends, the feel of her shoes against the pavement, the pages of her textbooks. Normal. Ordinary. Human.
Lunch was a small distraction. She sat with Bea and a few other friends in the cafeteria, the smell of grilled cheese sandwiches and coffee masking the distant tang of the ocean. Conversations swirled around her—assignments, weekend plans, favorite movies—but Jovelle heard a faint, undercurrent hum beneath it all. Her chest tightened.
The deep notices.
She shook her head, trying to ground herself.
Bea leaned across the table. "Are you even listening?"
"Yeah," Jovelle said, though she wasn't sure.
"You've been… weird all day," Bea added. "More than usual."
"I'm fine," Jovelle said, forcing a smile. But the moment her eyes scanned the room, she felt it again—the subtle presence, as if someone unseen was walking just beyond her field of vision.
It wasn't fear. Not exactly. It was something else. Recognition. Something older than her understanding, brushing against her consciousness.
She excused herself, claiming an overdue assignment in the library. The hallways were quieter than usual, a rare peace in the bustling campus. The sunlight spilling through tall windows illuminated dust motes floating lazily in the air. Jovelle inhaled slowly, trying to anchor herself in the tangible world.
Books in hand, she moved to a secluded corner, pulling out her notes and textbooks. Marine biology. Coastal ecosystems. Abyssal zones. She traced diagrams with her pen, studying the deep trenches where no human had gone. The strange creatures that thrived there. The pressures of the deep. The absolute darkness.
Her thoughts wandered, as they always did. Her ancestors' stories came unbidden. Guardians of the deep, keepers of currents, rulers of waters humans barely glimpsed. She had always dismissed them as allegory, cultural myth. And yet, every day, a part of her disagreed.
The hum in her chest returned. Faint, rhythmic, persistent. Not a sound, not a voice, but something she felt—like the tug of an undercurrent brushing at the edges of her awareness.
Jovelle closed her eyes briefly. Just for a moment.
It is time.
Not in the dream this time. In the waking world. A whisper threading through the back of her mind.
She exhaled slowly. The world seemed ordinary again, normal, mortal. She forced herself to continue studying, scribbling notes about hydrothermal vents and bioluminescent fish. But the sensation didn't leave her.
By late afternoon, she walked across the campus quad toward her dorm, heavy backpack pulling at her shoulders. The sky had turned bruised and gray, clouds gathering as though anticipating a storm.
And then she noticed it—again, in the corner of her vision.
Movement. Not random. Not ordinary.
A man, walking along the river path. Broad-shouldered, straight-backed, the kind of presence that seemed… intentional. His steps were measured, calm, but there was a certainty to them, a natural ease, as though he belonged where he was and the world moved around him.
Jovelle's pulse stuttered.
She had never seen him before. She didn't know who he was.
And yet the sea in her blood stirred.
The pull was faint—an echo of the connection she felt in her dreams—but undeniable. Her stomach twisted. She told herself to ignore it, to keep walking. But a part of her—the part that carried the legacy of the deep—noticed every detail: the way the man's eyes caught the fading light, the rhythm of his steps, the subtle scent of salt clinging to him.
Human.
And yet, somehow… not entirely.
She blinked and the figure was gone. Disappeared around a corner, leaving only the ordinary campus behind.
Her hand lingered at her chest, where the faint thrum had intensified. She exhaled, forcing herself to rationalize it. Coincidence. Nothing more.
Her dorm felt normal when she arrived. Bea was watching a movie, half-asleep. Dinner was waiting in the cafeteria. Assignments stacked neatly on her desk. Everything ordinary. Human. Predictable.
And yet, she knew it would not last.
Night came, and the dreams followed. Not a repeat of the old dream, but a new one. The black shore was there. The woman waiting. The same whisper:
It is time.
But now, deeper. Darker. The currents of the dream reached farther into her bones.
This time, Jovelle tried to see the woman's face.
The water surged, pulling her down. Shapes moved beneath the surface. Shadows with too many limbs, eyes glowing faintly in the black. The woman stretched out a hand toward her, but still her face remained hidden.
The pull is stronger.
Her chest tightened, lungs constricted, heart pounding in unnatural rhythm. And then—a whisper threaded through her mind, softer than the one in the dream but no less clear:
Someone is coming.
She woke with a start, drenched in sweat, heart hammering. The room was quiet. The city outside slept. Her textbooks sat where she had left them. Her lamp cast a small circle of warm light.
She pressed her hand to her chest, trembling.
Someone… coming.
Not yet. Not him. Not fully.
But the currents had begun to stir.
And the deep had begun to watch.
Jovelle shivered, hugging herself, knowing without knowing who—or what—was on its way.
She would not be ready.
And yet, she could not stop it.