The envelope barely left Yve’s hands before Dylan was already flicking through the crisp pages inside.
A birth certificate.
Government IDs.
A passport.
Every single document looked authentic enough to pass state scrutiny, which was precisely the problem.
He pinned her with a flat, skeptical stare.
“Wow…
y’know this’s illegal, right?”
Yve furrowed her brow in genuine thought.
“Is it?”
The question carried an innocence that made Dylan let out a dry, weary breath through his nose.
“I’m babysittin’ criminals now.” He tapped the stack of papers against his thumb.
“Y’know I used to work for the government, right?”
Yve opened her mouth to argue, only to realize she had zero defense against that particular piece of logic.
Shaking his head, Dylan handed the packet back.
“Whatever.”
Yve accepted it and tucked the envelope securely under her arm as they resumed walking down the sidewalk.
Lara lingered close beside her, the two of them bumping shoulders in a silent rhythm of shared relief.
The suffocating tension Lara had carried for weeks finally seemed to lift from her shoulders, leaving behind something lighter.
“Thank you,” Lara murmured, keeping her gaze forward.
Yve smiled, shaking her head.
“I didn’t do anything.”
“You did.”
“No.” Yve pointed a finger toward the sky.
“It was Darnell.”
Lara glanced down at the thick property folder clutched in her hands, her voice dropping to a cautious whisper.
“Can I ask you something?”
“Of course.”
“Is he a siren too?”
A bright, knowing grin spread across Yve’s face, and she nodded without hesitation.
“Yes.”
Lara let out a breath that sounded strangely like relief.
A few paces back, Dylan faintly caught the tail end of the whispered exchange, tracking the glances and the shared secret happening right in front of him.
He let out a low grumble, wondering for the hundredth time why he kept inserting himself into their impossible orbit.
Then again, standing outside on a sunlit pavement with a forged-paper stranger and a newly vindicated friend, he knew it was far too late to walk away now.
He slowed his pace.
“Hey.”
Both women looked back.
Dylan jerked his chin toward the commercial district across the street.
“Let’s get ya a phone.”
For a fraction of a second, Yve simply stared at him.
Then her smile bloomed, wide and genuine.
“Really?”
“Yeah,” Dylan muttered, turning back toward the storefronts.
“C’mon.”
Yve brightened immediately, hurried across the shop floor in his wake, and left Lara trailing close behind.
Fifteen minutes of browsing through displays and carrier plans culminated in Dylan settling on three sturdy, straightforward models.
They were reliable devices identical to the one sacrificed to the relentless chaos following Yve everywhere she went.
A few minutes of activating prepaid plans and swapping SIM cards should have wrapped up the errand.
Instead, he turned around to find that neither woman had paid the slightest attention to the technology.
They had drifted across the aisle toward a vertical display wall packed with decorative accessories.
Lara held up a bright yellow cover, turning it over in her hands as if evaluating a piece of fine art.
Beside her, Yve stood completely frozen before a specific peg.
Mermaids.
The case was covered in them.
She stared at the design for a long, quiet beat, and then her face softened into an unguardable smile.
It was not the amused smirk she wore when teasing his stubbornness, nor the mischievous grin that signaled impending trouble.
It was entirely genuine.
Eagerly, she nudged Lara’s arm to show her, and Lara let out a soft laugh, leaning in close for a better look.
The sight of it held Dylan’s attention longer than necessary.
Yve looked genuinely happy.
Whatever the reason, he zoned out completely until a polite rap on the counter snapped him back.
“All set, sir.”
Dylan blinked, clearing his throat as he faced the vendor.
“Yeah.”
His gaze drifted back to the display wall.
Yve was still holding up the case, her expression lit with quiet delight.
“…Add that to the tab too.”
The vendor followed his line of sight.
“The mermaid one?”
“Yeah,” Dylan muttered.
The vendor nodded, ducking down the aisle to retrieve a boxed match for the phone model Dylan had selected.
By the time he returned to the register, Yve and Lara were strolling back, their hushed conversation dissolving into light laughter.
“Phones are all ready to go,” the vendor announced, sliding the bags across the counter.
Dylan took the receipt and the bags, quickly opening the boxes to punch his own number into the handsets.
He handed the first device to Lara, and the second to Yve.
“Somethin’ happens, call me.”
Lara accepted hers with a grateful nod.
“Thanks, Dylan.”
Yve turned her phone over in her palm as if inspecting an ancient artifact, tracing the smooth edges before looking up.
“Thank you.”
Dylan gave a dismissive shrug, reaching back into the bag.
He pulled out the flat packaging of the phone case and dropped it onto the counter in front of her.
Yve stared at it.
Her fingers hovered over the illustrated design.
“Oh…
it’s the one I was looking at.”
Dylan looked away before she could search his face for answers, turning toward the exit.
“C’mon.
Let’s get dinner.”
He pushed through the glass doors and stepped out onto the pavement, leaving Yve standing by the counter.
She watched him walk away, then glanced down at the case resting in her hands.
Beside her, Lara nudged her shoulder with a knowing, triumphant grin.
Yve frowned at her.
“What?”
“Nothing.”
“Why are you smiling?”
Lara only shook her head, hiding her amusement behind a hand.
Yve blinked, glancing out the window toward Dylan, who was already leaning against a lamppost waiting for them.
“He bought us phones,” Yve murmured, clutching the package tighter.
“You know, we have something similar back home.”
“Still,” Lara replied gently.
Yve tilted her head, not entirely grasping what Lara was implying, but the passing confusion evaporated the moment Lara spoke again.
“Hey, I want to cook for you guys tonight.”
That immediately captured Yve’s full attention.
“Really?”
“Mhm.” Lara glanced past the glass toward the street where Dylan waited in the evening air.
“Think we should buy some cookware for Dylan’s lifeless kitchen?”
Yve followed her gaze, a spark of pure mischief lighting up her eyes.
“Spices too.” Lara added.
“Definitely.”
Their arms linked automatically as they headed for the exit together, catching up quickly onto Dylan.
For some reason, as soon as she appeared beside him, Dylan became intensely interested in everything except looking directly at her.
Yve smiled anyway, holding up the small box.
“Thank you for this.” The sunlight caught the printed mermaids dancing across the plastic case.
Dylan cleared his throat.
“Yeah.”
The answer was so clipped and awkward that it nearly coaxed a wider smile from her.
“Let’s get you some cookware.” Before he could formulate a response, she unclasped the manila envelope and pulled out the sleek black card.
“Lara said this is money.”
Dylan pinned her with a flat glare.
“Ain’t usin’ your money on my kitchen.”
The sheer firmness of the answer only amused her further.
A second later, Yve scrunched her face into a remarkably precise imitation of him.
“Ain’t usin’ your money on my kitchen.”
For a fleeting second, Dylan was entirely paralyzed.
The expression.
The cadence.
Even the exasperated pitch of his voice was somehow captured with terrifying accuracy.
“Did ya just mock me?”
Yve repeated the scowl.
Lara immediately burst out laughing beside her, which only made matters worse.
The two women linked arms again and continued down the pavement as if nothing had happened, leaving Dylan stranded on the concrete, wondering precisely when he had lost control of his own life.
A disbelieving smirk tugged at the corner of his mouth. This chapter was taken from novelping.com without permission.
“Unbelievable.”
Neither of them paid him the slightest mind.
Lara was still giggling, and Yve looked entirely too pleased with herself.
Shaking his head, Dylan fell into step behind them.
By the time they crossed the sliding glass doors of Target, Dylan was questioning every single choice that had led him down this path.
Lara, meanwhile, had seized complete operational control.
The moment they stepped into the kitchenware section, she steered Yve straight into the aisles, leaving Dylan to push the cart while the two women debated the merits of spatulas, mixing bowls, and appliances.
What started as a simple supply run quickly turned into an impromptu domestic seminar.
Every tool Lara pulled from the shelf came with a detailed breakdown, and Yve absorbed the information with the same captivated focus she usually reserved for unfamiliar wildlife.
“This one’s for flipping food.”
“Why can’t you just use your hands?”
“Because you’ll burn yourself.”
“Oh.”
A minute later, she was interrogating Lara about measuring cups, whisks, and peelers.
Dylan eventually gave up trying to keep track.
The cart slowly filled while Lara lectured on culinary mechanics, and somewhere along the way, his attention drifted away from the merchandise entirely.
Not to the pots and pans.
To Yve.
She approached every single aspect of this strange surface world with the exact same unshielded curiosity.
Whether it was a government-issued ID card, a smartphone, or a wire whisk, she treated each discovery like a puzzle worth solving.
The realization caught him off guard.
So did the next aisle.
Knives.
Rows and rows of them gleaming under the fluorescent lights.
Dylan immediately noticed the sudden shift in her attention.
Of course she gravitated toward the steel.
Before he could issue a warning, her fingers had already brushed against a display block, plucking a chef’s knife free.
Lara glanced sideways at her.
“You know how to use that?”
Yve’s smile widened.
For a second, she looked almost personally insulted by the inquiry.
Then she casually twirled the blade between her fingers.
Dylan straightened up.
The movement should have looked reckless, dangerous even.
Instead, it was terrifyingly controlled.
Effortless.
The steel rolled across her knuckles before disappearing behind the back of her hand and snapping right back into view, spinning with such absolute fluency that it was instantly obvious this wasn’t a novice experimenting.
This was muscle memory.
Even Lara’s eyes went wide.
At one point, the knife left Yve’s hand entirely.
Not high, and not with any dramatic flair, just enough to rotate precisely once through the air before landing back in her palm as though gravity itself had negotiated a treaty with her.
She didn’t even bother looking down.
Which somehow made it much worse.
Dylan stared, blinking hard.
“What the hell…”
By the time the blade completed its final rotation, Yve was already losing interest.
She caught the handle cleanly, inspected the edge one last time with a critical eye, and slid it neatly back into its display slot.
“Too light.”
And just like that, she moved on to the next display.
Lara hurried along behind her, looking thoroughly entertained by the display.
Dylan followed in their wake, though for entirely different reasons.
Somewhere in the back of his mind, a very uncomfortable question began to take root.
Exactly how many lethal skills was Yve keeping to herself?
~~~
By the time they reached the checkout lanes, the cart was overflowing with the inevitable consequences of letting Lara loose in a home goods section.
Apparently, a grown man could not survive on takeout forever.
At least, that was Lara’s absolute, unshakeable verdict.
Dylan remained entirely unconvinced, though he kept his doubts to himself as he started hauling pots, pans, and enough assorted utensils to supply a small commercial kitchen onto the belt.
While he unloaded the merchandise, Yve drifted closer to the register, watching the mechanics of the checkout process with total absorption.
People handed over plastic.
Others slapped down cash.
The cashier swiped or tapped, the machine beeped a cheerful confirmation, and ownership instantly transferred.
An astonishingly efficient system.
By the time the final items cleared the scanner, Yve had reverse-engineered the entire transaction in her head.
With an expression of quiet, righteous triumph, she pulled the sleek black card from her envelope and confidently slid it across the counter toward the cashier.
The cashier reached out a hand to take it.
Dylan moved faster.
Without breaking stride, he intercepted the card right out of Yve’s fingers and casually dropped his own debit card onto the reader terminal instead.
The transaction beeped and finalized without missing a beat.
Yve stared at the terminal, then blinked up at him.
“Eh?”
Dylan ignored her completely, gathering the boxes while seamlessly slipping the black card back into her palm.
~~~
The apartment had finally settled into a quiet, steady rhythm by the time the late hours rolled around.
Dylan stepped out of his bedroom with the intention of making a quick midnight trip to the bathroom, only to find the door firmly locked.
He frowned, rapping his knuckles against the wood.
Inside, Yve had been luxuriating in the rare, decadent warmth of a long bath, the soothing water nearly lulling her to sleep.
The sharp rap of the knuckles startled her thoughts, followed immediately by Dylan’s gruff voice echoing from the hallway.
Panic seized her.
In a frantic flash of movement, she surged out of the tub.
By the time her fumbling fingers managed to throw the deadbolt and yank the door open, her tail had already dissolved into human legs.
Wrapped tightly in a towel, her wet hair clinging to her damp shoulders with water droplets still tracing down her skin, she stared up at him.
“Sorry.
I just finished.”
Dylan certainly hadn’t expected the door to whip open that fast.
Or to find Yve standing right in front of him looking like that.
His gaze snapped instantly away, fixing on the opposite wall with militant focus.
“Uh-huh.”
The word came out noticeably rougher than intended.
Yve clutched her fresh clothes to her chest and slipped past him, while Dylan remained intensely invested in studying the hallway paint.
Only after she vanished into her room did he finally step across the threshold and close the door behind him.
A few minutes later, however, he found himself squatting beside the porcelain tub with a rising wave of irritation.
The water wasn’t draining.
Wonderful.
Another absolute joy to add to the week’s tally.
Reaching down into the stagnant standing water, he plunged his fingers toward the drain to clear whatever obstruction was clogging the pipes.
He half-expected to pull out a massive clump of hair or a glob of soap scum.
Instead, his knuckles scraped against something hard.
And there was a staggering amount of it.
Gritting his teeth, he began hauling the blockage out piece by piece until the suction broke and the water finally began to swirl down the drain with a loud, gurgling gasp.
He stood up, carrying the retrieved debris to the sink.
Under the harsh bathroom light, the objects looked completely out of place.
Small, flat, and tinted a peculiar shade of green, they gleamed with an uncanny, glassy sheen.
Each one was shaped like an oblong oval, their surfaces smooth in the center but bordered by intricate, ridged patterns that looked biological yet utterly foreign.
Some were no larger than a thumbnail, while others spanned nearly two inches, possessing a stiff, unyielding firmness that defied how thin they were.
Dylan turned one over between his calloused fingers.
“What the hell…”
A thorough sweep of the bathroom offered zero clues as to their origin.
By then, his brain was completely fried.
The day had already forced him to swallow enough bizarre realities to last a lifetime.
Tossing the strange green pieces into his palm, Dylan carried them back to his bedroom, laid down a paper towel across his nightstand, and dumped the pile onto it.
Weird.
That was a problem for tomorrow.
Tonight, he just wanted sleep.
~~~
The next morning found the apartment unusually lively.
Lara stood with her arms crossed, critically studying Yve’s latest attempt at assembling an outfit.
“Hmm…” She tilted her head, tapping a finger against her chin.
“It looks…
weird.
I don’t know.
Personally, it’s just not something I would wear.”
Yve looked down at herself, furrowing her brow.
“Weird?”
“A little bit.” Lara stepped forward, pulling a different pair of trousers from the bed.
“Try these instead.”
Yve compared the two options for a moment before nodding in agreement.
“Okay.”
“Watch what I’m doing.”
What followed felt less like getting dressed and more like an intensive masterclass.
Lara demonstrated each step with deliberate care, and Yve followed along with absolute, unblinking seriousness, treating the tutorial like some ancient, sacred ritual rather than a lesson in modern casual wear.
Halfway through the process, Yve frowned down at the fabric.
Before Lara could even issue a warning, the bath towel vanished in a blur of motion.
Lara blinked, let out a long breath, and then laughed quietly to herself.
Yve tilted her head.
“What?”
“I guess this is just normal for sirens.”
Yve looked genuinely puzzled by the remark.
“Oh, please.
Our bodies are works of art.
There’s nothing to be embarrassed about.”
Lara couldn’t even find an argument against that level of unshakeable confidence.
“Fair enough.”
A moment later, Lara slipped her blouse on before dropping the towel underneath, and Yve smoothly copied the motion.
The lesson rolled right along.
“So…” Lara adjusted a sleeve.
“Do you all swim around naked down there?
I’ve always wondered how sirens manage clothing.”
Yve let out an easy laugh.
“That is difficult to explain.”
“Never mind then.”
“Good choice.”
That evasive answer only made Lara more curious, though a new idea seized her attention before she could press further.
“Come on.” She smiled, beckoning toward the vanity.
“I’m teaching you makeup.”
Yve’s eyes lit up instantly.
~~~
An hour passed between brushes, palettes, and pigments.
Lara guided her through foundation, contouring, and color theory, explaining the function of every single tool while Yve absorbed the information with the exact same intense fascination.
When the bedroom door finally swung open, Lara stepped out first and immediately froze in her tracks.
Dylan was already standing in the kitchen nursing a mug of black coffee, looking entirely like a man who had rolled straight out of bed and failed to recover.
His hair was ruffled, dark stubble shadowed his jaw, and he radiated the classic aura of someone utterly unprepared for what the morning was about to throw at him.
Then Yve stepped into view.
Or rather, she wobbled out, fighting a losing battle against a pair of towering three-inch stilettos.
One hand flailed wildly for balance while the other clung desperately to the wall as she navigated the floor, terrified of snapping an ankle with every precarious step.
Lara had to bite the inside of her cheek hard to keep from laughing out loud.
Dylan turned at the sound of motion, offering Lara a brief nod before his gaze drifted past her.
And stopped dead.
For the very first time since arriving on the surface, Yve actually looked polished.
No oversized borrowed shirts.
No wild, sea-tangled hair.
No lingering trace of someone who had just washed ashore from the deep trenches.
Just…
Yve.
Dylan took a long, slow sip of his coffee.
Lara caught the shift in his posture, the corner of her mouth twitching into a knowing smirk.
“How’s my work of art?” she asked, gesturing proudly toward the wobbling siren.
Yve chose that exact microsecond to pitch violently to the left.
Lara lunged forward, catching her arm before gravity could claim another victim.
“You alright there?
Just hold onto me.”
Yve nodded eagerly, clutching Lara’s shoulder with both hands.
“Good idea.”
Even upright, remaining stationary required a staggering amount of concentration.
Her ankles trembled under the unfamiliar weight and geometry of the heels.
Focussing her attention forward, she locked onto Dylan with wide, triumphant eyes.
“Look, Dylan…” Her voice carried a delightful mix of immense pride and deep underlying terror.
“I feel so tall.”
Dylan choked back a snort, coughing quietly into his coffee mug.
Yve glanced down at her feet, utterly mystified.
“Is this what you always feel like?”
A low chuckle slipped past his lips.
“Not exactly.”
Yve remained entirely unconvinced, eyeing him with suspicion.
From where she towered, the entire room looked different.
Still clinging tightly to Lara for survival, she tried to straighten her posture and promptly came close to face-planting into the carpet again.
Dylan shook his head, a faint, amused smile ghosting across his face as he hid behind his mug.
“Where’re you two goin’?”
“Looking for jobs,” Lara said, smoothing down her jacket.
Dylan paused halfway through lifting his coffee mug, blinking at them over the rim.
“Hm.
Kay.”
Yve brightened instantly, stepping carefully on her heels to face him.
“Is there anywhere I can do research?
Or maybe autopsies?
I’m really good at that.”
A dry snort escaped him.
“You’d need a degree.
Experience too.”
Yve squared her shoulders at once, planting a hand on her hip with absolute dignity.
“I have plenty of experience, mind you.”
Then, leaning slightly toward Lara, she whispered, “What’s a degree?”
Lara laughed, steering her gently toward the front door.
“You know what?
We’ll cover that later.”
Before Yve could launch into another round of questions, Dylan stopped them with a raised hand.
“Phones charged?”
“Yes,” Lara answered.
“Got cash?”
Silence descended in the entryway.
Yve glanced at Lara.
Lara glanced back at Yve.
The blank looks on their faces said everything.
“Hang on.”
A minute later, Dylan returned from his bedroom holding a thick stack of bills.
He split the money between them, pressing the cash firmly into their palms.
“Anything happens, call me.”
Yve stared down at the green bills, then blinked up at him.
A flash of pure mischief lit up her eyes.
“Yes, father.”
Lara immediately covered her mouth, bursting into laughter.
Yve joined in, a bright, unbridled sound.
Dylan narrowed his eyes, entirely unimpressed.
If anything, his deadpan expression only made them laugh harder.
Catching sight of his scowl, Yve tried to rein in her amusement, offering a tight, innocent grin.
“Heh…
hehe…
sorry?”
She pivoted to make her exit, only for one of the traitorous stilettos to betray her.
The heel caught the edge of the rug, sending her pitching forward.
Before she hit the floor, Dylan caught her by the arm, steadying her with a practiced reflex.
Yve frowned down at her feet, rubbing her ankle.
“This footwear is terrible.” Despite the complaint, she shook him off and straightened with careful dignity.
Dylan crouched slightly, inspecting her stance.
“You sprain it?”
“I’m fine.”
“I believe you,” Lara deadpanned.
The look Yve shot Lara was instantaneous.
A loaded, significant glance that clearly conveyed: You know I’m not human, I don’t easily sprain ankles.
Lara had to bite the inside of her cheek to keep from howling.
Dylan glanced back and forth between them, narrowing his eyes at the silent communication.
“You sure?”
“Yes.
Stop making a fuss.”
He studied her for another long heartbeat before finally standing up, deciding it was better not to question it.
Without warning, Yve stepped forward and wrapped her arms around his waist in a brief, cheerful hug.
“Bye.
See you later.” Her voice softened with genuine warmth.
“Thanks for the cash.”
She pulled back, spun toward the open door, and threw one last parting shot over her shoulder.
“Dad.”
The resulting wave of laughter from both women echoed down the hallway as they slipped out the door.
Dylan stood in the center of the apartment, staring at the empty doorway, already regretting every single life decision that had brought him to this exact moment.