"The Last Song of the Siren"
The first time Camila heard the song, she thought it was a trick of the current. A soft, haunting melody drifted through the water, threading through the coral like a whisper. She adjusted her mask, exhaling slowly, the sound of her own breath too loud in the stillness. Then it came again-low, aching, impossibly beautiful.
Her pulse quickened.
She had spent years chasing this sound, following reports from fishermen and myths from island elders who spoke of a voice that called only to the lonely, the lost. A siren, they said, but not the kind who lured sailors to their doom. This one sang only for one person.
And somehow, impossibly, it was singing for her.
Camila followed the sound, pushing through the water, her flashlight beam cutting through the darkness. Then, she saw movement. Not a fish, not a shadow, but something else entirely.
A woman.
She hovered just beyond the reef, golden eyes catching the light. Her hair swayed like seaweed, her skin shimmered in shades of blue and silver. She should have been impossible.
Camila's lungs burned, but she couldn't look away.
The woman lifted a hand, fingers curling in invitation.
And then, just as Camila's vision blurred, she felt arms around her, pulling her upward. Breaking the surface, gasping for air, she blinked against the salt spray. For a moment, she thought she had imagined it all.
But the song still echoed in her ears.
And when she looked back down into the deep, those golden eyes were still watching.
