6. Meridian
Meridian
SIX
T he water embraces us and Cyreus' hand anchors mine as we slip beneath the surface. I hold my breath like he told me to, trusting that he knows these passageways better than I know the back of my boat.
The walls glow with this wild phosphorescent light, creating what looks like an underwater constellation guiding our way. The patterns seem too deliberate to be random—like the cave system itself is alive and watching us pass through.
We break into another air pocket after a thirty-second swim. I gulp in fresh air, my lungs happy for the break. This chamber feels cozier than the first, a hidden little pocket where water laps against worn stone ledges.
"How many of these caves are there?" I ask, treading water beside him.
"Dozens of interconnected chambers run along the coastline." His voice bounces weirdly off the close walls. "The rum-runners during Prohibition only found a fraction of what's actually down here. "
Before I can ask how the hell he knows so much about century-old smuggling routes, he guides me toward another passage. This one looks longer, darker. I grip his hand tighter as we get ready to dive again.
"Ready?" he asks.
I nod, filling my lungs with the deepest breath I can manage.
We plunge into blue-green darkness, and that's when I start noticing things that don't add up.
Cyreus moves through water like it's his natural habitat.
No wasted movement, no fighting against currents, like the water itself is making way for him.
I find myself staring at the fluid movement of his shoulders, the strong line of his back narrowing to slim hips.
Even in the dim glow, his body is something to behold—not just inhuman in its efficiency but damn beautiful in motion.
When my wetsuit drags me back, the rope between us goes tight, and he adjusts without even seeming to try.
Even weirder: his navigation. These passages twist and turn through darkness, branching in a million directions. Yet he moves with absolute certainty, never hesitating at intersections, never stopping to get his bearings.
Our third surfacing brings us to a larger chamber with multiple exit passages. I'm breathing hard from the exertion while Cyreus looks like he's just been taking a casual stroll instead of swimming through underwater caves.
"How do you know your way around down here so well?" I ask, trying not to sound like I'm interrogating him.
"I've explored these waters extensively over the years. "
"How many years exactly?" I study his technique, his impossible comfort in this environment. "Are you some kind of professional diver? Free-diving champion? Search and rescue specialist?"
He hesitates, like he's weighing how much to tell me. "I used to do recovery work. Bodies, mainly. People who got into trouble in these waters."
That would explain some things—the swimming skills, cold-water tolerance, knowledge of cave systems. Coast Guard divers and recovery specialists train for exactly these conditions.
"Used to?"
"I work independently now."
Something in his tone suggests there's more to the story. "How long have you been working these waters?"
"Long enough."
His non-answer triggers memories of stories I've heard around the harbor for years.
Tales of drowning victims mysteriously showing up on shore when they should have been lost forever.
Bodies recovered from impossible depths, washing up miles from where they disappeared.
The harbor master always blamed currents and tides, but the fishermen whispered other theories.
"The unexplained recoveries," I say, pieces clicking into place. "People found when they should have been lost forever. That was you, wasn't it?"
His silence tells me everything while saying nothing.
"How many people have you saved over the years? "
"Not enough." His voice carries the weight of countless losses, people he couldn't reach in time.
This answers nothing while telling me volumes.
I study him in the cave's glow, noticing details I missed before.
His skin isn't just pale—it has this almost translucent quality that catches and reflects the natural light.
His breathing is so controlled it's barely visible, like his lungs work differently than mine.
Water beads along his collarbone and traces the muscles of his chest, drawing my eye despite the mystery staring me in the face.
I'm torn between wanting answers and being distracted by how otherworldly beautiful he is.
"What are you?" The question slips out, barely above a whisper.
"What do you mean?"
"You swim through near-freezing water wearing nothing but shorts like it's a heated pool.
You navigate these caves like you built them yourself.
You found me unconscious at depth and somehow got me here without any diving equipment.
" I drift closer, unable to help myself. "So I'll ask again—what are you?"
The only sound is water lapping against stone. I watch him calculating, measuring how much truth he can afford to share.
"I'm someone who has spent a very long time in these waters," he finally says.
"That's not an answer."
"It's all I can give you right now."
Frustration edges his voice, suggesting this conversation is as difficult for him as it is for me. But underneath runs something else—longing maybe, desire to tell me more than he thinks he safely can.
I reach out and touch his hand, noting again how cool his skin feels despite the warm cave air.
His expression shifts when I touch him, pupils expanding until they nearly swallow the unusual blue of his irises. That same electric awareness from the wetsuit incident crackles between us, stronger now. My fingers linger against his wrist, reluctant to break this connection.
"You're not human," I state it as fact, not a question.
"Meri—"
"I'm right, aren't I?" I move closer, looking straight into his eyes. "Are you some kind of merman?"
His face twists with genuine offense—the first unguarded reaction I've seen from him. "A merman?"
"Well, what else would you be? You live in the ocean, you swim like you were born to it, you navigate underwater caves in the dark—"
"I am not a merman." Real irritation vibrates through his words. "Merpeople are... they're fantasy creatures from human folklore. Children's stories."
"As opposed to what you actually are?"
He closes his eyes, and when he opens them again, I see resignation mixed with what might be relief.
"Something far more complicated," he says quietly.
"Yes," he whispers .
The admission hangs between us like a bridge I can choose to cross or burn.
My logical mind screams that this is impossible, that I'm suffering from oxygen deprivation or trauma-induced hallucinations.
But my gut knows better. Everything about him, from the moment I woke up in that first cave, has been pointing to this truth.
"What are you?" I ask again, gentler this time.
"Something that shouldn't exist in your world. Something that's been hiding in the depths for longer than you can imagine."
"But you saved me."
"Yes."
"And you've been watching me for months."
"Yes."
"Because you're lonely."
My question seems to surprise him. "How did you—"
"It's in your voice. The way you talk about observing humans instead of interacting with them. You've been alone for a long time, haven't you?"
He nods, unable to speak.
"Show me," I say softly.
"What?"
"Show me what you really are. I'm not afraid."
"You should be."
"But I'm not." I float closer, close enough to see the conflict warring in his expression. "Please. "
For a moment I think he's going to refuse, going to retreat back into careful half-truths and deflection. Then something in his expression shifts, resolve replacing fear.
"Not here," he says. "If you truly want to see, it should be in open water. Somewhere you can escape if you change your mind."
"I won't change my mind."
"You might."
He swims toward another passage, larger than the others, where I can see light filtering down from above.
I follow him toward the light, my heart racing with anticipation and a kind of exhilaration I've never felt before.
Whatever he's about to show me, whatever truth has been hiding beneath the waves, I'm ready for it.
I think.
***
The final passage leads us upward through crystal-clear water that grows brighter with each stroke.
When we break the surface, I find myself in the sheltered cove where I anchored Deep Pockets hours ago.
The storm clouds gather overhead, dark and heavy with rain, but the towering cliffs protect this space from the worst of the weather.
Deep Pockets floats peacefully at anchor, exactly as I left her. Relief floods through me at the sight .
"She's safe," I say, swimming toward my vessel with powerful strokes.
"As promised." Cyreus says with a nod. "I made sure she would be safe while you recovered."
I don't bother asking how he managed that. If I did, he'd just give me another cryptic non-answer anyway.
I reach the dive platform and haul myself up, water streaming from my wetsuit. When I turn back to look for Cyreus, I see he's remained in the water, keeping a deliberate twenty feet between himself and my boat.
"Aren't you coming up?" I ask.
The question seems to hurt him. He drifts slightly farther away, creating more distance rather than less.
"This is as far as I go."
Disappointment drops like a stone in my stomach. "What do you mean?"
"This is where we say goodbye." The words sound like they're being ripped from him. "For now."
"No." The refusal bursts out of me, coming from somewhere deep and instinctive. "You can't just... we haven't finished talking. You promised to show me what you really are. You promised."
"I did show you. I told you I'm not entirely human. That should be enough."
"Telling isn't showing." I cross my arms, planting myself firmly at the edge of the platform. "And you know it."
"I'm protecting you. "
"From what?"
He doesn't answer right away. Water laps against the platform in the silence. "From me," he finally says. "From what I am. From choices you're not ready to make."
I kick off my fins and move to the very edge of the platform, closing the gap between us as much as possible without getting back in the water. "What if I want to make those choices?"
Something shifts in his expression—hope fighting with caution. A century of loneliness reflected in eyes that have seen more of Earth's oceans than any human explorer could dream of.
"You don't understand what you're asking."
"Then explain it to me."
The water around him begins to change, phosphorescence swirling in patterns that definitely aren't natural. His control is slipping, the human facade he's maintained beginning to crack around the edges.
"Meri," he says, and my name carries the harmonic undertones that mark him as other. "What you've seen today... what you think you know about me... it's just the beginning."
"Show me the rest."
Three simple words that could change both our lives forever. Once he shows me his true form, there will be no more hiding, no more pretending he's anything close to human. He'll either accept me completely or flee in terror, and I'm not sure I could survive the latter .
"If I do, there's no going back. No pretending this conversation never happened. No returning to your simple life of salvage diving and avoiding Coast Guard patrols."
"Maybe I don't want that life anymore."
The admission hits me like a physical force. I've spent twenty years defining myself by my independence, my ability to survive alone in dangerous waters. Now I'm offering to leave all that behind for a creature I've known for less than a day. The magnitude of my courage humbles me.
"You're not thinking clearly," he says, though even as the words leave him, I know they're wrong. "You've been through trauma. Near-drowning affects judgment in ways—"
"Don't." Anger flashes through me, hot and clarifying. "Don't you dare patronize me. I'm not some hysterical woman whose judgment can't be trusted. I'm a professional diver with twenty years of experience, and I know exactly what I'm saying."
His eyes widen slightly at my outburst, but I see respect mixing with the surprise.
"I want to see you," I continue, my voice steady and sure. "All of you. Whatever you really are."
"Even if it frightens you?"
"Especially if it frightens me."
He floats in the warm water, studying my face, memorizing every detail before he potentially destroys the connection we've built. But I can see the determination in his eyes, the same courage that drives me to dive alone in restricted waters and defy authority when it suits my purposes .
"Stay on the boat," he tells me. "And remember... you asked for this." He swims backward, putting distance between us, then allows himself to sink beneath the surface.