The waters curled around Allen's skin like the breath of a lover—warm, silken, unnaturally gentle. Lunari's slender hands moved over his chest, reverent and slow. Her silver eyes studied him with strange hunger, and her gills fluttered softly in rhythm with her excitement.
"You are not yet woven into the deep," she whispered, her lips brushing his ear. "But you must be. Else, the Cradle shall devour you."
Allen arched a brow. "Okay. Cool. That sounds like a horror movie line. Got any less spooky phrasing?"
Lunari tilted her head, not understanding. Then she gave a soft, musical giggle and turned, gliding through the canal waters with the grace of a falling feather. From a coral shelf near the hut's edge, she retrieved something glowing—round and shimmering like a pearl, yet faintly pulsing with blue light. Its surface was not hard, but fluid—like it breathed.
She floated back to him, holding the orb between elegant fingers.
