The trade capital of the deep was always alive, a place where voices and currents mingled into an endless hum of movement. Merchants bartered, spells flickered in the hands of human witches, and the scent of crushed coral, salt, and fresh blood filled the water. Sirens prowled, Cecaelias spun their webs of influence, and mermaids adorned in pearls and gold floated past with their noses turned up.

Nothing about it was new to Mizéan. He had seen it all before. The desperate, the powerful, the foolish, the arrogant. It was a predator’s paradise, and he had long since learned that nothing truly caught his interest anymore. Until now.

She moved through the streets like she owned them. Not in the way of merchants or self-important nobles, but with the unshaken confidence of something untouchable. Golden fins flicked elegantly behind her, their translucent edges catching the light. Her long hair trailed in the currents like spun sunfire, a stark contrast to the cold, disinterested look on her face. Beautiful... not in the way others romanticized beauty—not soft or fragile. She was striking. Sharp lines, regal posture, a creature that belonged to no one. And that was the problem. Because the moment Mizéan saw her, something in him decided—that would change.

He circled, weaving through the crowd at a lazy pace, watching her without watching. A shadow in the deep, never close enough to be noticed, never far enough to lose sight. He didn’t need to approach. Not yet. There was a rhythm to this kind of hunt, a patience that separated the skilled from the reckless.