Zanya woke up dry—and choking on salt.
She bolted upright, coughing hard enough to sting her throat, hand flying to her mouth. There was no water in the room. No damp sheets. Just the sharp, unmistakable taste of the sea coating her tongue like she'd swallowed a wave in her sleep.
"What the hell…" she rasped.
It didn't fade.
She swung her legs out of bed, steadying herself as the room tilted slightly to the left. Not spinning—pulling. Like gravity had decided to negotiate.
The bathroom light felt too bright. The mirror reflected her back in fragments: dark hair tangled from sleep, skin faintly flushed, eyes ringed with exhaustion.
Normal.
Almost.
She leaned closer—and froze.
A fine dusting of salt clung to the hollow of her throat, faint and crystalline, catching the light like frost.
Her breath stuttered.
"That's not possible."
She wiped it away. The crystals dissolved instantly, leaving her skin warm and hypersensitive beneath her fingers. Her pulse thrummed unevenly, speeding up, slowing down—syncing to something she couldn't hear but felt.
Tide.
Moon.
Distance.
The System flickered into her peripheral vision without a chime, subdued and dim.
[SYSTEM STATUS UPDATE]
[Resonance Anchor: STABLE (MONITORED)
Containment Threshold: ACTIVE
Host Condition: SUB-OPTIMAL]
"Sub-optimal," she muttered. "That's one way to put it."
She dressed quickly, choosing layers without thinking—long sleeves, soft fabric, anything that felt like a barrier. The Infinity Nikki wardrobe adjusted automatically, colors muting into sea-glass blues and storm-gray tones that felt… quieter.
Even so, the moment she stepped outside, the sensation intensified.
The air felt heavier. Not humid—attentive.
Every reflective surface tugged at her awareness: car windows, puddles, polished metal. She kept her eyes down, breath measured, refusing to let the pull set the rhythm of her body.
By the time she reached school, her head ached dully, pressure blooming behind her temples like the promise of a migraine.
And then she saw them.
Emma laughed too quickly, posture stiff.
Cleo fidgeted with her sleeves, gaze darting.
Rikki scanned the courtyard like she expected trouble to leap out of the concrete.
They weren't looking at the water.
They were looking at Zanya.
Emma was the first to speak. "You okay?"
Too casual. Too careful.
Zanya paused mid-step. "Why wouldn't I be?"
Cleo tilted her head, frowning. "You look… tired."
Rikki's eyes narrowed. "You smell like the beach."
Zanya forced a shrug, pulse jumping. "It's the coast. Everyone smells like the beach."
Rikki didn't look convinced—but she didn't push. Not yet.
That was worse.
The rest of the day passed in a blur of near-misses. A dropped water bottle she intercepted with a foot before it burst. A sprinkler that kicked on unexpectedly—she distracted a teacher long enough for the girls to move. Small things. Invisible things.
Helpful.
Costly.
Each intervention left her chest tighter, her balance shakier, the salt taste creeping back into her mouth.
By afternoon, the System intervened again—this time sharp, unmistakable.
[SYSTEM RESTRICTIONS APPLIED:
• Deep-Ocean Access — LOCKED
• Mako Island Proximity — PROHIBITED
• Voluntary Resonance Attempts — DISCOURAGED]
[Reason: Host survival probability decreases beyond safe margin.]
She stopped walking.
"Prohibited?" she whispered.
A new line appeared, colder than the rest.
[Estimated Survival Probability (Current State):
— Human Form: 68%
— Under Lunar Exposure: 54%]
Her breath came shallow.
"So this is it," she murmured. "This is containment."
No response.
The System didn't apologize. It didn't justify itself.
It simply held the line.
That night, sleep came hard and shallow. No moonlit visions. No voice. No warmth in the dark.
Just absence.
She dreamed of standing on a shoreline while the tide pulled away from her, retreating farther and farther until the sea was only a memory and the air burned in her lungs.
She woke before dawn, heart racing, sheets twisted around her legs.
For a moment—just a moment—she missed the pressure.
And somewhere, far beneath the surface of the ocean, something immense remained still.
Waiting.
Not calling.
Respecting the boundary she hadn't known she needed—and watching to see if she could survive it.