Siren's Call

The research vessel rocks.

Nessa Reeves grabs the railing, saltwater spray hitting her face.

Three weeks mapping underwater caves off the Oregon coast, and still no answers.

Just more questions.

More bodies.

"Dr. Reeves!" Marcus, her research assistant, waves from the equipment deck. "The sonar's picking up something weird again."

She crosses the deck in four strides, wetsuit already half-unzipped. The tablet screen shows an anomaly deep in the cave system—movement that shouldn't exist at that depth.

Too large for fish.

Too fast for currents.

Too deliberate.

"Same pattern as last week," Marcus mutters, pulling up the data. "Whatever it is, it's circling the same area. Like it's... guarding something."

Nessa's pulse kicks up.

Professional curiosity, she tells herself.

Not the strange dreams she's been having. Not the pull she's felt every night since they anchored here. Not the voice that seems to call her name just as she's falling asleep.

"I'm going down." She zips her wetsuit to her throat.

"Nessa, come on. It's almost sunset. And after what happened to the last dive team—"

"Which is exactly why I need to go now." She checks her dive computer, her rebreather. "Before we lose another team to whatever's down there."

Marcus shakes his head but helps her gear up anyway.

He knows better than to argue when she's made up her mind.

The ocean is cold when she drops in.

Dark.

Pulling her down like it wants her.

She descends into the cave system, her lights cutting through murky water. The walls are jagged obsidian, volcanic rock that shouldn't exist this close to shore. Nothing about this place makes sense geologically.

Her sonar pings.

Something moves in the darkness ahead.

Big.

Fast.

Coming right at her.

Nessa freezes, hand on her knife—useless against anything truly dangerous down here, but the weight is comforting.

The shape glides past, just outside her light's reach.

A tail.

Massive.

Scaled.

Not fish. Not whale.

Not anything she's ever seen.

Her heart hammers against her ribs. Training says surface now, get to safety, radio for backup. But something else—something deeper—keeps her suspended in the water.

Watching.

Waiting.

"You shouldn't be here."

The voice reverberates through the water. Through her skull. Through her bones.

Not words. Not exactly.

Vibration. Frequency. Something that bypasses her ears entirely and speaks directly to her brainstem.

She spins, lights cutting through the dark.

Nothing.

Then—

A hand grabs her ankle.

Pulls her down.

She gasps, regul...