Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

Ruby Gillman wasn’t technically invisible. She had friends, decent grades, and a school ID that didn’t say “student #0000.” By all external metrics, she was perfectly, totally, absolutely average.

So why did it still feel like she didn’t belong?

Her pencil tapped the edge of her desk—rhythmic, quiet, annoying even to her own ears. She stopped, shook her hand out, and forced herself to focus. Mr. Nix was droning about something on the board, something quadratic, but her brain was miles underwater.

Bliss nudged her under the desk, mouthing: Earth to Ruby.

Ruby gave her a thumbs-up, smile tight. She hated this. Not school—school was fine. Predictable. She hated how much effort it took lately just to pretend she wasn’t treading water. No one had noticed, and maybe that was the worst part.

When the bell rang, she bolted upright too fast. Her backpack slipped halfway off her shoulder, a textbook tumbling out and hitting the floor with a slap that made the classroom go silent for a second.

“Oops,” she said with a weak laugh, crouching to grab it.

No one laughed with her. They just moved around her like always—stepping over, not toward. Like she was scenery.

Except Bliss, who crouched down, too. “You okay?” she whispered, voice light.

Ruby nodded. “Yeah. Just clumsy today.”

Bliss smiled like that settled it. “Come on, lunch.”

Oceanside High's cafeteria was loud in the way Ruby had learned to survive: the kind of background noise that filled up your ears and gave you something to do with your hands. She slid into her usual seat next to Bliss, who was already halfway through a wrap and halfway into retelling last period’s drama.

“I swear, if Mr. Brant makes us journal about our feelings one more time, I’m switching to AP Psych just to spite him.”

Ruby smiled on cue, unzipped her lunch bag, and unwrapped her very boring turkey sandwich. The same one she brought every Monday. It was fine. Bland. Safe.

“Hey, did you hear?” Bliss leaned in, lowering her voice dramatically. “There’s a new girl.”

Ruby blinked. “Okay?”

“No, like, new new. Super pretty. Transferred mid-year, which is weird. No social media, no known relatives, no trail. Total mystery girl.”

“She’s got the whole school losing their minds,” Connor added, unwrapping a granola bar like it was resisting arrest. “Saw three different dudes trip over air this morning.”

Ruby raised an eyebrow. “Sounds like a normal high school girl to me.”

“You’d think,” Bliss said, “but no. She’s like... that kind of pretty. Movie-star pretty. Disney-villain pretty. Like if a Renaissance painting came to life and decided to ruin your self-esteem.”

Ruby tried to laugh, but her stomach was doing that thing again—tight and fluttery and wrong. She chalked it up to nerves. Or indigestion. Or maybe that weird hollow space in her chest where being normal used to feel easy.

And then the cafeteria doors opened.

And just like that, everything shifted.

She wasn’t even doing anything flashy. She just was.

Tall. Effortlessly poised. The kind of red hair that should’ve clashed with her icy-blue eyes, but didn’t. The kind of girl who looked like she walked out of a storm and didn’t get wet.

Students turned to look. Conversations slowed, then restarted in louder, more desperate tones. Ruby could practically hear the mental math happening around her—who is she, what’s her story, where did she come from, what’s her damage?

But the girl—Chelsea, someone would whisper later—seemed unaffected by the noise she stirred up. Her eyes scanned the cafeteria with careful precision, like she was searching for something specific.

And then they landed on Ruby.

Not her table. Not the friend group.

Just her.

Direct. Unwavering.

And then she smiled.

Not a big smile. Not a “new girl trying to make friends” smile. A small, strange, knowing one.

One that was just for her.

Ruby froze.

Chelsea lifted a hand in a quiet, almost lazy wave—acknowledging her without drawing too much attention—and then moved toward an empty table by the window, sliding into the seat like she’d been there all along.

Bliss was still staring. “Did that just—?”

“Okay,” Connor said, “am I losing my mind, or did the literal new goddess wave at Ruby?”

“She did,” Bliss said, turning to Ruby. “Wait, Rubes. Do you know her?”

Ruby shook her head slowly. “Never seen her in my life.”

But that wasn’t the whole truth, was it?

There was something about the way Chelsea had looked at her—like she’d seen something underneath. Past the smile. Past the too-normal lunch and the carefully controlled posture. Past the charm spell that kept everyone else blissfully unaware of her not-so-human self.

Ruby didn’t even realize she’d stopped chewing until Bliss nudged her.

“You good?”

“Yeah,” Ruby said, too fast. “Just… uh. Weird vibe. I’m fine.”

Except she wasn’t. Because even as she forced herself to rejoin the conversation, to laugh at Connor’s dumb joke and nod at Bliss’s latest theory, she could still feel those eyes on her.

And for the first time in a long time, Ruby Gillman didn’t feel like she was pretending to be someone she wasn’t.

She felt like someone had just seen through the act completely.

Class after lunch was always a drag, but today, Ruby’s brain wasn’t cooperating at all.

Her notebook lay open on her desk, half-filled with what she hoped looked like notes and not the frantic scribbles of someone spiraling. She tapped the eraser of her pencil against the margin, lips pressed into a thin line.

It didn’t make sense.

No one was supposed to see her—not really. Not the way she was. Her mom said the magic made sure of that. To everyone else, she looked normal. Pink skin. Brown eyes. Standard-issue human teenager.

So why had Chelsea looked at her like that?

Like she saw everything?

Ruby leaned back in her seat, chewing on the inside of her cheek. Maybe it was nothing. Maybe Chelsea just had that kind of presence—the type that made everyone feel like they were the only person in the room. Maybe it was some weird popularity tactic. Make the least noticeable girl in the school feel noticed. Keep everyone guessing.

Or worse: maybe it was pity.

She tried not to let that thought stick.

The door swung open, and Ruby’s heart did a very stupid thing.

Because of course. Of course, Chelsea would be in this class.

She entered with the same quiet confidence from before, like she wasn’t late at all, like the air just moved around her differently. The teacher, Mr. Graham, looked up from his attendance list, slightly surprised.

“Oh. You must be the new student. Chelsea…?”

“Van Der Zee,” Chelsea supplied, voice smooth. “Sorry, I got a little turned around.”

“No worries,” Mr. Graham said, already flustered. “Let’s see, there should be an open seat in the back—”

But Chelsea’s eyes had already landed on Ruby. Again. That same calm, deliberate gaze.

And then—because the universe apparently hated her—Chelsea walked right down the aisle and stopped beside Ruby’s desk.

“Hi,” she said, smile just the tiniest bit lopsided. “Mind if I sit here?”

Ruby opened her mouth. Closed it. Opened it again.

“That’s... uh. Someone else usually—”

Before she could finish, the kid who had been sitting there—Nico, quiet, always chewing on pen caps—walked into class and froze mid-step.

Chelsea turned to him, expression polite. “Oh! Is this your seat?”

He looked at her. At Ruby. At the situation.

“...I’ll find another one,” he muttered, backing away like she’d glared at him, even though she hadn’t done anything of the sort.

Chelsea sat down without missing a beat, sliding her bag off her shoulder and crossing one leg over the other like she’d always been there.

Ruby stared ahead, stiff as a board.

“Hi again,” Chelsea said, sotto voce. “Ruby, right?”

Ruby turned her head slightly. “How… did you know that?”

“You’re kind of hard to miss,” Chelsea said lightly, then looked forward again like it wasn’t a loaded statement at all.

Ruby didn’t answer.

Because there was no rational explanation for anything that was happening.

But to her credit,

Ruby tried to focus.

Keyword: tried.

Mr. Graham was saying something about literary themes. Or maybe foreshadowing? Possibly commas. Who knew. Ruby’s brain was running so many diagnostics she might as well have been hooked up to a server.

Okay. Okay, deep breath. Maybe she’s just nice. Some people are nice. And pretty. And unnervingly good at getting people to abandon their assigned seats. That’s… fine. Normal. She’s not a sea-creature-hunter or a government agent or someone who can actually see that you’re blue and slimy and—

She scratched at the side of her neck absently. No slimy texture. Not right now. Totally disguised. Totally safe. Totally losing your mind.

Maybe it was a pheromone thing. Maybe Chelsea had squid blood or something, and it triggered some subconscious kraken recognition response that made Ruby feel like she was being X-rayed.

...Squid blood? Seriously? That’s where we’re going with this?

Okay, fine. She didn’t have squid blood. But maybe she was Canadian. Like, actually Canadian. Ruby wasn’t sure how that would help, but it felt important to include it in the suspects' list.

Focus, she begged herself. You’re fine. This is fine. She’s just a girl. A very shiny, confusing, magnetic girl with eyes like tidepools and a smile that might be cursed, but still—a girl. You are a cool, calm, completely uninteresting human teen. Nothing to see here.

“Ruby?”

She blinked.

Mr. Graham was staring at her. So was half the class. Chelsea included.

Ruby swallowed. “Uh. Sorry. What?”

“I asked if you could read the next paragraph aloud.”

“Oh. Yeah. Totally. Absolutely.”

She flipped open her book and immediately realized she had no idea what page they were on. She’d barely registered what class she was in.

Is this English? This is English, right? Oh no. I’ve forgotten how to read. The alphabet has left the building.

Bliss, seated a row away, tilted her book so Ruby could see the page. Ruby gave her a look of eternal gratitude and ongoing existential despair.

Her eyes locked on the paragraph. Okay. Okay. Words. She could do words.

She opened her mouth.

And proceeded to butcher the first sentence with the finesse of a dolphin on roller skates.

“‘The… um, protagonist’s… inter—internal… confliction—conflict, sorry—serves as… a, uh, metaphor… for the disillusion…dissolution? of… uh…’” She trailed off. “...society?”

Silence.

Someone coughed.

Chelsea, to her credit, didn’t laugh. But Ruby felt the amusement radiating off her like a slow, affectionate tide.

Mr. Graham cleared his throat. “Thank you, Ruby. Let’s have—”

Ruby didn’t hear the rest. Her ears were burning.

Great. Cool. Now she thinks you’re illiterate. Not just awkward. Not just weird. But stupid. Fantastic. Really making your mark.

She slumped in her seat and resisted the urge to melt into the floor. Two days. I usually get two days before the tragic, awkward reveal. This has to be a record.

And right beside her, still poised, still silent, still smiling ever so slightly—

Chelsea.

Ruby didn’t know what she saw when she looked at her.

And that scared her more than anything else.

The final bell rang like a mercy kill.

Ruby didn’t remember the last ten minutes of class. She could’ve signed a treaty or accidentally insulted Homer in three languages for all she knew. All she was aware of now was the buzzing in her ears and the fact that her backpack felt like it was full of bricks and shame.

“Hey.” Bliss fell into step beside her as the hallway flooded with students. “You’ve been off all day. Like, more than usual. You okay?”

“I’m fine,” Ruby said, in the exact tone of someone who was not fine.

Bliss gave her a look. “Ruby. You called commas a ‘tool of the oppressive regime’ under your breath.”

“...They are, though.”

“Right,” Bliss said slowly. “Well. You’re lucky Chelsea didn’t report you to the grammar police. She seemed very tuned in to your every move.”

Ruby groaned. “Please don’t say her name like that.”

“Like what?”

“Like it’s dipped in sparkles and imported from France.”

“She literally looks like she stepped off a runway in Paris and into our stupid school. What do you want from me?”

“I want her to be normal,” Ruby hissed, voice low as they passed a clump of giggling juniors. “Or boring. Or gone.”

They turned a corner. Ruby focused on not tripping over her own feet.

Bliss glanced at her sideways. “Okay, but real talk? She didn’t have to sit next to you. Or smile at you. Or wave at you like you were a person and not background noise.”

“I am background noise.”

“Well, apparently someone forgot to mute you.”

“Bliss.”

“Okay, okay, shutting up.”

They reached Ruby’s locker. She spun the dial too fast, messed up the combo, and had to start over. Typical.

And then, because the universe had clearly decided she hadn’t suffered enough today—

“Hi, Ruby.”

Ruby stiffened so hard she nearly knocked her locker door into her own face.

She turned slowly.

Chelsea stood there like a calm before a storm—graceful, collected, and way too close.

“Hi,” Ruby said, her voice three octaves too high. “Hey. Hi. Hello.”

Bliss looked delighted.

Chelsea smiled that same gentle, oddly direct smile. “I just wanted to say... You seem cool.”

Ruby blinked. “I... do?”

“Yeah.” Chelsea shrugged, like it was the most obvious thing in the world. “You’re interesting. I’d like to be friends.”

Then, with no fanfare—no explanation—she turned and walked away.

Just like that.

Ruby and Bliss stared after her.

For a second, neither spoke.

Then Ruby said, very quietly, “Did I just get cursed?”

Bliss wheezed.

“Because that felt like a curse,” Ruby continued numbly. “Like a deal with a sea witch. Did I say yes? I didn’t say yes. Did I accidentally say yes? Is this how hauntings start?”

“She wants to be friends with you,” Bliss said, grinning. “That’s not a haunting. That’s... kind of awesome.”

“She knows something,” Ruby whispered, eyes wide. “She’s onto me.”

Bliss sighed. “And we’re back to conspiracy mode.”

“She’s a spy, Bliss. Or a cult leader. Or some ancient underwater being wearing a teenager suit.”

Bliss patted her shoulder gently. “Sure, babe. Let’s get you some juice.”

Ruby didn’t move.

Bliss tugged her gently down the hall, muttering something about vending machines and sugar emergencies, but Ruby barely registered it. Her brain was still caught in a feedback loop of She wants to be friends with me? and I’m definitely going to die before third period tomorrow.

Because that hadn’t been normal. Nothing about Chelsea Van Der Zee was normal.

And Ruby Gillman was a certified, card-carrying expert on Not-Normal.

Still, as they rounded the corner and the crowd of students thinned, she couldn’t help glancing over her shoulder.

Chelsea was already gone.

No dramatic exit. No smoke bomb. Just... gone.

Which was somehow worse.

“Okay,” Bliss said, inserting coins into the vending machine like it owed her money. “Real question. If she is a spy, what’s she spying on you for?”

Ruby didn’t answer.

Because that was the part she didn’t want to think about.

Because deep down, in the part of herself she didn’t usually poke at with a stick, she was starting to suspect she already knew.

Chelsea hadn’t found her by accident.

And whatever this was, it had only just begun.

Chapter Text

High school, as it turned out, was even more pathetic than she'd imagined.

The ceilings were too low, the lights buzzed like dying sea crickets, and the entire building reeked of adolescence—acne cream, anxiety, and something distinctly fried. Chelsea sat at the edge of it all, spine curved in a posture that said both I don’t care and I own this place, arms folded loosely, one leg draped over the other like she had nowhere better to be. Which, tragically, she didn’t.

This was the best the surface world had to offer.

Humans—surface dwellers, really, if she was being generous—darted through the halls like half-sentient minnows, too busy trying to impress each other to notice they were barely evolved from plankton. They made too much noise with their mouths and too little with their minds, and yet they thought they were so clever. So cool. So devastatingly original for discovering eyeliner and passive aggression.

She could hear it already, the swirl of gossip around her like a tide pool: Who is she? Where’s she from? Oh my god, her hair. Is she a model? She totally looks like a model.

Chelsea had barely done anything. Walked in, blinked, existed. That was apparently all it took. It was almost insulting how low the bar was.

Still, she let them look.

It was easy—too easy—to slide into their expectations. Smile just wide enough to make them think they’d earned it. Speak softly enough that they leaned in. Tilt her head like she was listening. Watch them fall over themselves to impress her, like barnacles clinging to a passing whale.

It should’ve been unbearable.

It was unbearable.

And yet.

Chelsea glanced to her left, where a couple of boys at the back of the classroom had once again devolved into not-so-subtle glances and elbow nudges. One of them—a wiry thing with a hoodie two sizes too big—blushed a vivid red when she caught his eye. She didn’t bother smiling this time. Just blinked. Slowly. Like she was bored of being perceived.

He still looked like he’d melt through the floor.

They were pathetic. But they were hers.

And that—gods help her—felt... good.

Like warmth she wasn’t used to. Like weight pressing into all the hollow parts of her ribcage.

Her mother would sneer if she saw her now, faking giggles and compliments in a crusty public school, of all places. She’d call it weakness. A waste of time. Embarrassing.

She’d never said the word “embarrassing” to Chelsea directly, of course. Nerissa didn’t waste language like that. She didn’t need to.

She only needed to look at her. That look that passed right through her. The one that made Chelsea feel like kelp scum clinging to the edge of a ruined throne.

But here—here—people looked at her like she was something special. They saw her, even if they didn’t know what they were looking at. Even if the attention was shallow, objectifying, weirdly flattering in that way that made her want to scrub her skin raw and bask in it all at once.

It was disgusting.

And addictive.

Chelsea’s fingers curled around the metal edge of her desk, blunt nails pressing into the surface. She exhaled through her nose, quiet and sharp.

No. This wasn’t about them. Not really.

She wasn’t here to enjoy herself.

This was a mission.

The mission.

Find Ruby Gillman. Get close to her. Win her trust. Disarm her from the inside out. And then, when the time was right, rip it all away. Pull the thread. Let the truth unravel and watch what happened when the great Kraken protector realized her entire life had been just one more pawn in a war she didn’t even know existed.

It was poetic, really.

Chelsea leaned back in her seat and tilted her chin, eyes sliding lazily toward the classroom door. She hadn’t seen Ruby since yesterday—since that painfully awkward hallway interaction where she’d extended the first piece of the trap like a wrapped gift. I want to be friends, she’d said, which wasn’t a lie, exactly. It just wasn’t the full truth. Not yet.

She half-expected Ruby to run away. Half-expected her to come crawling back, too desperate for connection to question why someone like Chelsea would choose her.

So far, neither had happened.

The waiting was starting to gnaw.

She hated waiting.

Hated not knowing.

Hated the little gap between expectation and result where doubt started to curl in like smoke under a door.

But Chelsea smoothed her expression back into its resting elegance. Sharp jaw. Sharper eyes. If there was one thing she’d learned from her mother, it was how to armor your softness in silence.

Besides, it didn’t matter what Ruby did.

It wouldn’t change the outcome.

Chelsea was going to finish what Nerissa started.

And maybe, if she did it well enough—clean enough, with just the right balance of cruelty and brilliance—her mother would finally see her as more than a disappointment.

Maybe she’d even speak to her without that awful, unreadable pause between sentences. Like she had to remember who she was talking to.

Maybe Chelsea would finally earn her place.

Her mother’s approval.

Her name.

But those were thoughts for weaker moments. Private ones.

And Chelsea did not do private.

Not anymore.

She shoved the thought down, deep and hard, until it settled somewhere near her stomach, cold and waiting.

For now, she had a part to play.

The room around her buzzed, full of clumsy voices and clattering chairs, none of it worth remembering.

And still, her eyes stayed on the door.

Waiting.

And after a bit, the door finally opened.

Chelsea didn’t need to turn around to know who it was. The air shifted. Just slightly. Enough to prick her attention.

There she is.

Ruby Gillman.

Her target. Her ticket. Her project.

Chelsea kept her posture relaxed, feigning disinterest with her elbow on the desk and cheek in her palm. But her eyes tracked everything: the way Ruby shuffled in like she was trying not to disturb the molecules in the air. The stiff gait. The apologetic hunch. That backpack must have weighed twenty pounds with how tightly she clung to it, like she was afraid it might run away.

The act is a bit much, Chelsea thought dryly. We get it. You’re harmless. Invisible. A perfectly average nobody. Yawn.

She watched as Ruby tripped over her own feet—not dramatically, just enough to look clumsy in a way that read practiced. A stumble with flair. A self-deprecating shrug. Then straight to the back row, where eye contact went to die.

Chelsea almost wanted to clap.

Wow. Really going all in on the “please don’t look at me” routine, huh? What are you hoping for, sympathy points? Pity-based immunity?

It was... impressive, in a way. If Ruby really was the Kraken heir—which, according to her mother, was still very much the case—then this charade was almost brilliant. Chelsea had expected something more overt. Pride. Defiance. That sort of righteous Kraken superiority her mother always seethed about. But this? This was subterfuge. A full-on identity smokescreen.

Convincing, too, Chelsea mused, tapping her fingers against her jaw. Almost had me fooled for a second.

She watched Ruby hunch further into her hoodie as a classmate asked to borrow a pen. Ruby offered one like she was handing over a family heirloom. She didn’t speak. Just nodded. Eyes darting.

Chelsea leaned back in her chair and crossed her legs, lips twitching.

Playing meek. Hiding in plain sight. A tactical withdrawal into mediocrity. Very “I’m totally not the future of an ancient war, teehee.”

The sarcasm in her head curled like smoke.

Humans were so gullible, too. Eating it up. Nobody batted an eye at the weird girl in the corner. That’s the thing about mortal camouflage—it didn’t take much. A little awkwardness. A tragic aura. Keep your head down, keep your mouth shut, and you could hide an empire behind a shrug.

Smart, Chelsea thought, a flicker of respect rising. Low effort, high yield. Pretend to be the harmless nerd, and no one will ever suspect you're royalty.

She tilted her head thoughtfully.

Still, though... It’s a little sad, isn’t it?

Not that Chelsea cared. Obviously.

But it was pathetic, the way these humans orbited around nothing. No power. No purpose. Just trying to be liked. And Ruby was choosing to emulate that? Dulling her shine just to blend in with a species that couldn't tell a tide shift from a tantrum?

Ugh.

Chelsea’s eyes drifted to a group of boys a few seats down who were still sneaking glances at her, half admiration, half awe. It was the same everywhere she went: whispered fascination, hollow compliments, a thousand little ego boosts in the form of teenage hormones.

She basked in it, a little.

Not because it meant anything.

But because it was something.

At least someone’s noticing I exist, she thought, and instantly hated the thought.

She slammed the door on it. Locked it. Drowned it in the Mariana Trench of her psyche.

None of that mattered. None of them mattered. Not the humans, not the dull-eyed teachers, not the squeaky desks or the sticky floors. She wasn’t here for friends. Or flattery. Or validation.

She was here for Ruby.

And whether this Kraken girl was faking or really that deep in the performance of her life, Chelsea would find the cracks. Push the right buttons. Make herself indispensable.

Earn her mother’s attention.

Finally.

Lunchtime.

Chelsea didn’t sit with anyone. Obviously. She let herself be seen by everyone, tray untouched, expression perfectly bored, stationed at a prime window seat like a queen overseeing her kingdom of cafeteria chaos.

Except this “kingdom” smelled like greasy tater tots and teenage body spray.

Her eyes were locked on Ruby.

Not obviously, of course. Her hair was perfect curtain cover. But behind the casual flicks of her fingers and the slow, deliberate sips from a juice box she had no intention of finishing, Chelsea was watching. Studying. Assessing.

So this is the Kraken princess’s inner circle. Hm. How regal.

Ruby sat wedged between two humans—one with an energy drink and too many bracelets, the other with highlighters for nail polish. Loud. Sloppy. Mortals through and through. They laughed like they had no survival instinct. One of them slapped Ruby’s arm with enough force to rattle a lesser creature.

Chelsea blinked.

Ruby flinched.

Interesting.

The girl was jumpy. Visibly uncomfortable. Barely speaking unless prompted, and even then her words came out like apologies wrapped in stammering. She kept checking to make sure her hair was in place. That her lunch didn’t spill. That her backpack didn’t touch anyone else’s legs.

Chelsea tilted her head.

Okay, so maybe the “undercover mastermind” theory needs some reworking.

Because if Ruby was acting, she was really committed. Like, award-winning levels of “please let the floor consume me.” She kept fiddling with her spoon, like even her yogurt was stressing her out.

The highlighter girl said something, and Ruby’s face did this weird flicker—like she wanted to laugh, but didn’t know how. Chelsea watched her shoulders tense up, then immediately sag as if she was trying to make herself smaller.

You’re doing this on purpose, Chelsea told herself. This has to be part of the persona. The sweet, skittish little Kraken who couldn’t possibly pose a threat. Nerissa said they were manipulative.

Still…

Chelsea’s brow furrowed ever so slightly.

There were easier ways to get people to let their guard down. This wasn’t charming or disarming—it was awkward. The kind of awkward that made other people feel secondhand embarrassment. There was no power in this posture, no hidden strategy in those bitten fingernails or the way Ruby kept checking if something was on her shoe.

It wasn’t even bad acting. It was just… real.

What the barnacle is going on here?

Chelsea crossed one leg over the other, eyes narrowing.

Did they hide her too well? Keep her so far from court that she doesn’t even know how to behave like royalty? No. That doesn’t make sense. She’s got to know. Somewhere in there.

Nerissa wouldn’t have sent Chelsea on this mission if Ruby were truly clueless. Right?

Still, there was something off. The intel from her mother painted the Kraken heir as dangerous, poised, ready to rise from the depths and reclaim the oceans. But this? This girl could barely reclaim a plastic spork without panicking.

Chelsea exhaled slowly through her nose.

Well. If nothing else, she’s made herself predictable. Meek. Cornered. Eager to please.

Which means easy to control.

She could work with this. In fact, it might be even simpler than she thought. No grand confrontation needed. No duel of royal legacies. Just a soft voice, a helping hand, and a few gentle nudges in the right direction.

Push here, pull there, and Ruby Gillman would be hers to steer.

Let’s see what makes you tick, little Kraken.

Chelsea smirked into her untouched lunch.

The bell hadn’t even finished echoing when Chelsea spotted her: red hair bobbing like a buoy in a sea of aimless students, eyes fixed downward, arms clutching her books like they might save her from social interaction.

There you are, little Kraken.

Chelsea stood from her perch—same window, still no lunch eaten—and took a slow, confident step into the tide of motion. She didn’t rush. Queens didn’t rush. They appeared, like storms. Unavoidable. Inescapable.

Ruby turned the corner. Alone.

Perfect.

Chelsea adjusted her walk to intercept—casual, effortless, just one predator drifting into the path of something unassuming.

“Hey.”

Ruby flinched. She flinched. As if the word itself carried static.

She looked up. Blinked. Recognition hit, followed immediately by confusion, and then dread. It was subtle, but Chelsea caught it—like spotting a ripple in deep water.

“Oh,” Ruby said. “Uh. Hi.”

Her voice was too high-pitched. Nervous. Caught between Do I run? and Do I pretend I don’t see her? The girl looked like she'd been cornered by the concept of conversation.

Chelsea offered a smile. Tilted her head, all charm and brightness.

“Didn’t get a chance to talk earlier. Hope I didn’t freak you out yesterday.”

Ruby blinked again. “No! I mean—kinda. I mean, not in a bad way, I just—wasn’t expecting—um—hi?”

Her brain was buffering in real-time. Adorable.

Chelsea leaned against the locker beside her, feigning thoughtfulness. “You looked like you were having so much fun with your little crew. I didn’t want to interrupt.”

“Uh. Thanks?”

She was clutching her books tighter now, like Chelsea might steal them. The girl was radiating unease. Chelsea could practically see the cortisol rising.

This can’t be an act, she thought again. Unless she’s the best liar I’ve ever seen.

But no—this wasn’t layered. This wasn’t elegant deception. This was raw discomfort, not faked fragility. Ruby was glancing past her now, clearly looking for an escape route that didn’t exist.

“Heading to class?” Chelsea asked, playing it light.

Ruby nodded. “Yeah. Biology.”

“Same.” Not true. “Guess we’re deskmates there now, too.”

Ruby froze.

Check.

She backpedaled a second later. “Wait—no, I—I think that’s third period. I’m second-period Bio.”

Chelsea let her grin flicker into something amused. “Right. Silly me.”

Fake mistake. Test the schedule. She passed. Not useful intel, but worth a shot.

A beat of silence. Ruby shifted her weight, clearly unsure if she was allowed to walk away. But Chelsea wasn’t done yet.

“I’ve been thinking about your name,” she said, voice dipping into something a touch more serious.

Ruby blinked again. “My…?”

“Gillman.” Chelsea let it sit there for a second. “Sounds important.”

The look that passed over Ruby’s face was one she didn’t expect.

Panic. Pure, wild-eyed panic.

And then it was gone. Smothered under awkward laughter and a panicked “Haha, not really! Just… y’know. A name.”

Chelsea narrowed her eyes. Not in suspicion—outwardly, she was all pleasant curiosity. But inside?

That reaction was gold.

You don’t panic over a name unless it means something. Or unless you’ve been taught to hide it.

So you do know something, don’t you?

No. Not fully. If she knew the truth, she wouldn’t look so lost.

That panic wasn’t recognition. It was fear of being found out.

Chelsea filed it away. Checkmate is coming.

“Well,” she said smoothly, stepping aside at last. “I hope we can talk more, Ruby. You’re… interesting.”

Ruby’s mouth opened like she was going to say something, but nothing came out.

So Chelsea winked and walked away.

Let her flounder. Let her think. The seed had been planted.

And Chelsea?

She was already three moves ahead.

Chapter Text

Ruby Gillman was not okay.

She knew she wasn’t okay because okay people didn’t spend all morning dodging glances from a girl they’d barely spoken to. Okay people didn’t have full-body reactions to the memory of a smile—one that wasn’t even threatening, technically. And okay people definitely didn’t keep imagining that said girl was going to peel her face off and reveal ancient sea knowledge or some kraken-hunting weapon under her skin.

But Ruby?

Ruby was convinced she was being hunted by some kind of pretty, ginger sea demon.

She’d barely slept last night. Her brain wouldn’t let her. It had done that annoying thing it always did—running every second of that conversation on repeat like a cursed Vine loop, except each time it added in a new, horrific interpretation.

What if Chelsea saw through the illusion? What if she knew what Ruby was?

What if she’d known the whole time?

What if—God forbid—this wasn’t some popular girl on a friendliness spree, but a sea-folk operative, sent from wherever the ocean kept its grudges, to punish her for… what, exactly?

Ruby didn’t even do anything. She hadn’t even been anything. If Chelsea were some magical deep-sea hitwoman, then she must’ve gotten the wrong Gillman.

...Right?

Right?

She tried to be rational. (It failed.) She tried to go about her day like normal. (It failed.) She tried to listen to Bliss and Connor talk during lunch, nodding along, laughing in the right places.

(That part technically succeeded, but only because she’d mastered the art of social masking from years of pretending to be a regular kid and not, y’know, a monster from myth.)

But even then, she kept catching glimpses.

Red hair. Big smile. Ocean-blue eyes that held a strange kind of amusement.

Always at the edge of her vision. Always looking like she knew something.

Which—fine. Maybe Chelsea was just popular. Maybe everyone in school just looked at her because she was beautiful and sparkly and didn’t seem like she was pretending to be a background character all the time. Maybe she didn’t even remember Ruby at all.

But that theory lasted until third period, when Ruby caught Chelsea staring directly at her across the hallway.

Not past her. Not through her.

At her.

And she smiled.

That smile again. Not cruel. Not kind. Just... interested. Patient. Like a cat waiting for the mouse to come out on its own.

Ruby walked faster.

Her friends hadn’t noticed anything. Or if they had, they hadn’t said anything. Bliss was too busy with whatever new insane situation she got caught up in, and Connor was too busy gawking at said hitwoman. Typical.

So she was alone in this. And it was getting harder and harder not to lose it completely.

She could tell her mom.

But telling her mom would mean revealing she’d talked to someone who maybe knew she was a kraken. Which would lead to her mom pulling her out of school, setting the harbor on fire, moving them to Antarctica, and possibly declaring war on sea creatures who might not even exist.

That was... a lot.

So no. No, Ruby would just have to deal with this herself. Like a normal, mortal teenager.

Even if her heart dropped every time she turned a corner and thought she saw blue eyes in the crowd.

Even if she started to believe that Chelsea wasn’t just a problem.

She was a sign. A harbinger.

A very pretty, very confusing, potentially magical omen of doom.

The lunch table was louder than usual.

Not because of anything particularly interesting—Connor was recounting some drama about two sophomores breaking up over Minecraft—but because Ruby’s brain was spinning so fast it made everything around her feel like static.

Chelsea was at her usual window table. Same perfect posture. Same unreadable expression. Same occasional glance in Ruby’s direction that felt like it burned.

She’s watching me again.

“She’s not watching you,” Bliss said, biting into a rice cracker.

Ruby jumped. “I didn’t say anything!”

“You didn’t have to. You’ve been glancing at her every thirty seconds like you’re expecting her to explode.”

“I am not—”

Connor leaned across the table. “Look, I don’t know what happened between you two—”

“Nothing happened!”

“—but maybe you should, like… talk to her?”

Ruby gawked. “Why would I ever talk to her?”

Bliss raised an eyebrow. “I don’t know, maybe because she came up to you, called you interesting, and then asked to be friends?”

Ruby’s face burned. “It was a trick.”

Connor frowned. “A trick to what, compliment you? Kidnap you for some popular girl cabal? Start a pyramid scheme?”

“She knows something,” Ruby muttered, poking at her sandwich like it had answers. “She keeps looking at me. Like she’s waiting. Normal people don’t do that. And normal people definitely don’t smile like that unless they’ve already buried the body.”

“She’s probably just being nice,” Bliss said, softer now. “I mean, yeah, she’s kind of unnerving, but you’re acting like she’s about to launch a coup.”

“She might!”

Connor looked at Bliss. “Should we be worried she’s developing a persecution complex?”

Bliss ignored him. “Fine. Let’s say she is planning something. What’s her evil plan, exactly? Befriend you? Compliment your hair? Invite you to a sleepover and then murder you with a glitter pen?”

Bliss leaned forward. “But real talk? You’re driving yourself nuts over someone who maybe just thinks you’re cool. I know that’s hard to believe because you hate compliments and melt like a vampire in daylight when people look at you too long, but…”

She nudged Ruby’s hand gently.

“Maybe just… talk to her. One conversation. Clear the air. Worst case, you confirm she’s weird. Best case, she actually is just a human girl who wants to be friends.”

Connor nodded. “And, like… she’s hot. Let’s not forget that.”

Bliss shot him a look. “Not the point.”

Ruby stared down at her food. “She’s so not just a human girl.”

“Then figure out what she is,” Bliss said, as if it were simple. “But please, Ruby. Just talk to her. You look like you haven’t slept in three days.”

“I haven’t.”

“Exactly.”

Ruby sighed, shoulders slumping. Her eyes flicked back to Chelsea’s table.

Still watching. Still smiling. Still maddeningly serene.

Maybe talking wouldn’t help. Maybe it would make things worse.

But at this point?

She was going to lose her mind either way.

The final bell couldn’t come fast enough.

Ruby slung her backpack over one shoulder and trudged down the hallway, flanked by Bliss and Connor. They were deep in an argument about whether or not horror movies had lost their touch—Connor was pro-practical effects, Bliss insisted jump scares still had value—and Ruby, for once, let herself drift.

Not mentally. Emotionally.

Just listening.

Bliss’s hands moved when she talked, wide gestures punctuating her every word. Connor snorted every few seconds, amused by his own comebacks. Ruby didn’t say much, but she didn’t need to. This was comfort. Familiar. Safe.

Her heart ached with it.

They stepped out into the courtyard where the sun cast long afternoon shadows, warm and blinding. Connor split off first, waving a granola bar like a flag of surrender.

“Pray for me,” he said, already halfway to track practice. “Coach says today’s a ‘mental toughness’ day, which means I’m going to get yelled at until I cry.”

“Hydrate!” Bliss called after him.

Ruby laughed before she could stop herself.

Bliss turned to her, slinging her bag higher on her shoulder. “Want me to walk with you?”

Ruby hesitated. “Nah. I’m good.”

“You sure?”

She nodded. “Yeah. I think I just need to… think.”

Bliss gave her a lingering look, then nodded. “Okay. But seriously—talk to her. Just rip the band-aid.”

“Yeah,” Ruby said, smiling faintly. “Band-aid. Got it.”

“Text me if she turns out to be a vampire or something.”

“I’ll let you know after I burst into glitter.”

Bliss grinned, squeezed her shoulder, and turned to leave.

And just like that, Ruby was alone.

She stood still for a minute in the emptying courtyard, breathing in the air that tasted too sharp. It was the kind of quiet that let all the noise in.

Her gaze drifted, unbidden, toward the parking lot.

No Chelsea. For now.

Ruby sat on the stone edge of the planter near the bike rack and let her backpack slide down beside her. Her hands curled in her lap. Her fingers ached from clenching them too tight all day.

Bliss was right. She was driving herself crazy.

And yet—

How could she not?

She looked at her friends and saw everything she stood to lose.

Bliss, who had taught her to fake confidence until it almost felt real. Connor, who never let a bad day stay bad for long. The cafeteria jokes, the walk-home rants, the inside memes on group chat, the dumb things they shouted in unison just because it felt good.

And her mom. Her family. Their house built on secrets.

What if Chelsea saw through it?

What if she already had?

What would happen when the truth came out?

Her stomach twisted.

She couldn’t even begin to imagine Bliss’s face. Or Connor’s.

Or the school’s.

Kraken. The word felt too big for her mouth. She hadn’t even been able to say it out loud the first time. Her mom had.

Ruby had just stared at her reflection and watched her whole life blur underwater.

And now it might all come crashing down because some weird, gorgeous, shark-eyed transfer student decided to smile at her for no reason.

Except it wasn’t no reason.

It never was.

Ruby pressed her palms against her eyes.

Maybe talking to Chelsea would help. Maybe it would fix everything.

But if it didn’t?

She’d lose the life she’d built.

And that scared her more than anything else.

A breeze stirred through the courtyard, rustling the leaves overhead. Ruby sat frozen, gaze distant, heart still pounding from thoughts she hadn’t been ready to think.

“I was hoping I’d find you here.”

Ruby’s blood froze.

She didn’t have to look up to know who it was. The voice was unmistakable—smooth, soft-edged, with just enough weight behind it to make the air bend around it.

Chelsea.

Ruby’s head jerked up anyway. The redhead stood at a casual angle a few feet away, backpack slung over one shoulder, sunlight catching in the glossy sheen of her perfect hair. She looked like an Instagram filter brought to life.

Ruby scrambled to straighten up. “Oh. Uh. Hi.”

Cool. Very cool. Just keep breathing.

Chelsea didn’t seem fazed by the awkwardness. She stepped closer, not too close, like she was being careful not to spook a wild animal.

“Didn’t mean to scare you,” she said, smiling faintly. “You looked like you were thinking really hard about something.”

Just the future destruction of my entire life. No big deal.

Ruby swallowed. “I—yeah. I guess.”

Chelsea lowered herself to sit on the edge of the planter, a safe distance away. Not too casual, not too intense. It was practiced. Measured.

Calculated, Ruby thought. But somehow not in a bad way.

“I wasn’t sure if I should come say hi,” Chelsea continued. “After earlier this week, I wasn’t sure you wanted me to.”

Ruby blinked. Her throat felt dry. “You… remembered that?”

Chelsea gave a soft laugh, looking down at her hands. “You don’t exactly forget someone looking at you like you just set their house on fire.”

Ruby turned red. “I didn’t—! I mean, I wasn’t trying to—!”

“I’m teasing,” Chelsea said, her smile widening just slightly. “Mostly.”

Ruby shrank into her hoodie. “Sorry.”

“No need to be. It’s actually kind of refreshing.”

“…What is?”

Chelsea shrugged. “You’re honest. Or maybe just really bad at hiding how you feel. Either way, it’s interesting.”

Ruby didn’t know what to say to that. Her brain was still trying to reboot.

The silence stretched a little too long.

Chelsea tilted her head, eyes softer now. “I meant what I said, by the way. About wanting to be friends.”

Ruby’s fingers tightened around the hem of her sleeve.

Chelsea leaned forward a little, not pressuring—just gently tilting the scales. “No strings attached. I’m not going to bite.”

Except you already did, Ruby thought. Right into my sense of safety.

But then Bliss’s voice echoed in her mind.

Worst case, you confirm she’s weird. Best case, she actually is just a human girl who wants to be friends.

This could be normal. This could be fine. She could do this.

Just one conversation. Just to prove she could.

Ruby cleared her throat, voice smaller than she meant it to be. “Okay.”

Chelsea blinked. “Okay?”

“I mean…” Ruby forced her shoulders to square up. “We can be friends. If you want.”

The smile that bloomed across Chelsea’s face was slow and quiet and devastating.

“I do.”

Ruby stared at her, equal parts stunned and suspicious. “Cool.”

Oh no, she thought immediately. I just agreed to die, didn’t I?

But Chelsea didn’t press it. She just stood, brushing off her skirt. “I’ll see you tomorrow, then.”

And just like last time—without warning, without waiting for a reaction—she turned and walked away.

Ruby sat there for a long moment, stunned, heart thundering.

What had she just done?

The walk home felt like moving through jellyfish.

Ruby barely registered the sidewalk under her feet, or the sound of cars driving past, or the kids biking down the street yelling about some new game. Her body moved, but her mind was still back at school. Back at that courtyard.

Back with her.

She pushed the front door open with her shoulder.

“Ruby!” Agatha’s voice rang from the kitchen—bright and chipper, in that very specific Mom Covering For Something tone. “You’re home early.”

“It’s 4:15,” Ruby muttered.

“Well. Earlier than usual for a Wednesday.” A pause. “You didn’t go diving, right?”

Ruby kicked off her shoes. “No, Mom.”

“Or climb the lighthouse?”

“No, Mom.”

“Or sneak into the pool filtration system again—”

“That was one time.”

Ruby padded toward the stairs. Agatha peeked her head out from the kitchen, apron still dusted in flour.

“Everything okay?”

Ruby hesitated. “Yeah. Just… long day.”

Agatha’s eyes narrowed, the corners of her smile twitching like she could smell the unease. Kraken senses were the worst.

“You sure?” she asked gently.

Ruby forced a grin. “Promise. Just tired.”

Agatha didn’t push, but she didn’t not hover, either. “Okay. Dinner in an hour. No hiding in your room until morning.”

Ruby saluted half-heartedly and climbed the stairs two at a time.

Once safely behind the door, she collapsed onto her bed with a groan that might’ve been part-whale.

She reached for her phone.

- UNREAD MESSAGES -

Bliss (💫):
[3:43 PM] update ussssss
[3:45 PM] tell me you said yes. Tell me you didn’t blow it.

Connor (🍪):
[3:55 PM] so are you besties yet or

Ruby rolled onto her side and typed, fingers twitching:

Ruby (🫧):
she talked to me again
and I may have… accidentally agreed to be her friend???

A typing indicator appeared. Then two.

Then full chaos.

Bliss (💫):
OH MY GOD
this is incredible
i KNEW she liked you!!
see?? told you it wasn’t a hex

Connor (🍪):
you’re welcome
for our flawless advice
i’m taking full credit for this arc

Ruby (🫧):
guys I think I made a huge mistake
what if she’s like, secretly evil
or a robot
or worse
a hitwoman

Bliss (💫):
oh no not a popular girl 😱
the horror

Connor (🍪):
nah you’re doomed
guess you gotta hang out with her now
build a friendship
make memories
take selfies
fall in love-

Ruby (🫧):
STOP IT'S NOT LIKE THAT

Bliss (💫):
we’re proud of you
seriously
this is a good thing, Rubes

Ruby stared at the screen, warmth bubbling up in her chest, and anxiety boiling right alongside it.

They meant well. They always meant well.

But they didn’t know what she was risking. What Chelsea might know. What it would mean if any of this blew up.

She glanced at her closet.

At the mirror.

At the tiny glow in her skin, she could only see in the right light, when she was too tired to keep the illusion up.

What if Chelsea really could see through it?

What if today was the beginning of the end?

She tossed her phone face down onto her bed, heart still pounding.

Tomorrow, she’d have to actually talk to Chelsea.

Tomorrow, the lie of her life would stretch just a little thinner.

And tomorrow…

Well. Tomorrow was going to suck.

Chapter Text

Ruby Gillman had made a lot of questionable decisions in her life.

Wearing socks with jelly sandals in third grade. Attempting a bangs phase. Telling Connor she didn’t like Sharknado and then enduring a 45-minute PowerPoint on why she was wrong.

But yesterday? Agreeing to be Chelsea Van Der Zee’s friend?

That was going to haunt her into the next geological era.

Her alarm had gone off two hours ago. She’d hit snooze so many times it probably gave up and filed a complaint. Her hair was still damp from her panic-shower. She’d shoved a granola bar in her backpack and called it breakfast. Her disguise charm was holding, thank Poseidon, but she kept checking the mirror every few seconds like she’d suddenly sprout tentacles and blow her cover.

Again.

By the time she stumbled out the door, sneakers half-laced and hoodie on inside out, it was already pushing eight. If she ran—like, full-on track meet ran—she could maybe not get a tardy slip. But that would require energy. And Ruby had spent all hers on not throwing up.

Because Chelsea was going to talk to her again today.

Because they were friends now.

Because she’d apparently lost her mind.

Ruby Gillman arrived at school at 9:42 AM.

She knew this because the giant digital clock in the hallway announced it with all the subtlety of a guillotine drop.

Which meant she had officially missed first period.

And half of second.

Which meant she had approximately forty-five minutes to pretend she hadn’t completely lost control of her life.

She burst through the front doors of Oceanside High like a raccoon being chased off a patio, breathless and uncomfortably damp with panic-sweat. Her phone buzzed in her pocket—7 texts, 3 missed calls, and one photo from Bliss of a particularly cursed vending machine sandwich captioned “RIP Ruby. She died as she lived: avoiding confrontation.”

She didn’t even bother going to the office for a late pass. What was the point? The hallways were already flooded with students switching classes, and Ruby was just another fish in the stream. A very, very paranoid, possibly doom fish.

Her stomach twisted.

They were friends now.

Why. Why had she said yes? Why had she listened to Bliss? Why was Chelsea so calm all the time, like she wasn’t obviously plotting something?

She tried not to think about it. About her. About that whole… friendship moment. She was already mentally rehearsing her excuses for Bliss and Connor. Maybe she got abducted by a swarm of angry seagulls? Cursed by a vending machine? Stuck in a mirror maze of poor decision-making?

But of course, they were waiting by her locker.

Bliss spotted her first. “There she is,” she said, arms crossed. “We were about to file a missing persons report.”

Connor looked her up and down. “You look like you fought a washing machine and lost.”

“I overslept,” Ruby muttered.

“By three hours?”

Ruby dropped her forehead against her locker door. “I didn’t sleep.”

“Chelsea dreams again?” Bliss asked lightly.

Ruby just groaned.

Connor unwrapped a cereal bar with more judgment than should be legally allowed. “You know, it’s starting to feel like you’re being haunted. But by like, a really hot ghost.”

“I’m not haunted,” Ruby hissed. “I’m being targeted.”

Bliss rolled her eyes and handed Ruby a water bottle. “You talked to her. You didn’t explode. That’s progress.”

“She’s probably plotting something,” Ruby mumbled. “This is the part in the horror movie where the monster lures the idiot protagonist into a false sense of security before—boom! Betrayal. Blood. Dramatic music.”

Connor shrugged. “To be fair, that is the best part of any movie.”

Bliss poked Ruby’s arm. “You said she was nice.”

“She seemed nice,” Ruby whispered. “That’s how they get you.”

“She said she wanted to be your friend, and you said yes.”

“I panicked!”

Connor grinned. “Well, panic or not, it’s official now. You’re Chelsea Van Der Zee’s chosen mortal companion. Congratulations. May the odds be ever in your favor.”

Ruby covered her face with both hands. “I’m going to combust.”

Bliss just laughed and slung an arm around her shoulder. “Come on, disaster kraken. Let’s get you to class before you miss the whole day.”

A bit of walking and avoiding hall monitors later, Ruby slumped into her seat five seconds before the bell rang, gasping like she'd just sprinted a marathon. Which she basically had, emotionally.

Mr. Nix glanced up, raised an eyebrow, but said nothing. Blessed silence. Or maybe just delayed judgment.

She peeled off her hoodie and slouched low in her seat, heart pounding. Her eyes darted to the door once, then again.

No Chelsea.

No glowing, red-haired harbinger of doom.

She exhaled. Okay. This was fine. She was fine.

Connor slid into the seat next to her and whispered, “You look like you just escaped a government facility.”

“I feel like I escaped a government facility,” Ruby muttered.

Bliss leaned over from the next row. “No Chelsea sightings yet.”

“Thank Neptune,” Ruby whispered, immediately regretting it.

Bliss blinked. “Neptune?”

“I said Newton.”

“No, you didn’t—”

Mr. Nix cleared his throat. “Eyes forward, please.”

Ruby stared at her textbook. She wasn’t absorbing a single word. Just lines and squiggles that might as well have been in ancient Atlantean.

Okay. No Chelsea. That was good. Right?

Except now her brain was free to imagine all the places Chelsea could be.

Lurking in the halls? Plotting? Talking to teachers? Sneaking into her house?

Or worse: waiting.

Ruby gnawed the cap of her pen. Maybe she was playing some long con. Maybe she had a tracker. A sea-sorcerer orb. A magical kraken-detector—

“Pop quiz,” Mr. Nix said.

Ruby’s soul left her body.

Ruby stared at the paper in her hands like it had personally betrayed her.

78 out of 100.

Seventy. Eight.

Mr. Nix had written it in red pen—like blood. Or shame. Or failure she couldn't come back from.

“I’m dropping out,” she muttered as she slid into her lunch table seat, head in her hands. “Tell my family I love them.”

Connor glanced at the paper, whistled, and took a bite of his mashed potatoes. “Damn. That’s, like, great for a pop quiz.”

“It's barely a C!”

“It's a C+,” Bliss corrected, pulling her container of fruit closer. “And also? Still higher than Connor’s 62.”

“I misread the instructions,” Connor said with zero remorse.

“You wrote your name in the ‘essay response’ section.”

“They didn’t say not to.”

Ruby groaned. “You don’t understand. I studied. I actually read the chapters ahead. I was prepared. And I still—still—got a 78. What’s wrong with me?”

“Nothing,” Bliss said immediately, like she’d been waiting to say it. “You're just having a week. It’s allowed.”

Ruby dropped her forehead onto the table. “I’m spiraling.”

Connor looked at Bliss. “Should we give her the talk?”

Bliss sighed. “Yeah.”

Connor scooted his tray aside and leaned on his elbows, very solemnly. “Ruby. You are smart. You are loved. And you are annoying when you catastrophize.”

Bliss nodded. “You get twenty minutes to mourn your not-B-plus. After that, we’re moving on, and you’re eating the rest of your sandwich.”

Ruby didn’t move.

Connor poked her shoulder. “Ruby.”

“Is it even worth it?” she mumbled into the plastic table. “Any of it? The notes? The color-coded flashcards? The fifteen-minute podcast I fell asleep listening to?”

Bliss peeled a slice of mango and flicked it at her. “Eat. Process. Chill.”

“You are not dying,” Connor added, deadpan.

“You’re just dramatic.”

Ruby groaned louder but reached for her sandwich.

They watched her take a bite, both visibly relieved.

“You don’t get to quit school unless you’re failing multiple classes,” Bliss said. “It’s in the teen handbook.”

“And anyway,” Connor said with a shrug, “a 78 means you’re still doing better than, like, 80% of the school.”

Ruby gave them both a weary look. “You made that statistic up.”

“Yeah,” he admitted. “But it felt helpful.”

She chewed slowly, the tension in her shoulders finally starting to ease.

Chelsea hadn’t shown up at lunch yet. That was something.

And her friends weren’t wrong. She wasn’t dying. Probably.

Not yet, anyway.

Ruby managed three full bites of her sandwich before the cafeteria’s volume shifted.

She didn’t notice it at first—just a soft hush, a ripple of noise moving through the room like a current. People sat up straighter. Conversations paused. A fork clattered to the floor and wasn’t picked up.

Ruby felt it before she saw it. A prickle on the back of her neck. The urge to look up.

Bliss squinted past her, then groaned. “You’ve got, like, ten seconds left.”

“What?” Ruby blinked. “Of what?”

Connor nodded toward the cafeteria doors. “Window time. It’s closing.”

And there she was.

Chelsea Van Der Zee. Dressed like her clothes were tailored by sea nymphs. Walking like gravity had to politely ask permission to affect her. Holding a lunch tray like it was an accessory, not something mortals actually ate off of.

Ruby straightened, panic setting in again like clockwork. “She’s not coming over here. There’s no way. She wouldn’t.”

“She’s looking directly at you,” Bliss whispered, lips barely moving.

“I’m gonna puke,” Ruby whispered back.

“Please don’t,” Connor said, already bracing.

Chelsea crossed the room with that same calm, unhurried pace. Not fast enough to look eager. Not slow enough to seem dismissive.

She reached their table.

Ruby froze.

Chelsea smiled.

“Hey,” she said, voice warm but just a touch curious, like she didn’t already know the exact effect she was having. “Mind if I join you?”

“Mind if I join you?”

There were five words in that sentence. Five small, simple, devastating words.

Ruby’s brain blue-screened.

Bliss visibly flinched. Connor inhaled so hard he probably swallowed a fly. The entire cafeteria wasn’t looking, but it felt like they were.

And Ruby?

Ruby had stopped breathing.

Literally. She was just sitting there, staring at Chelsea with her mouth slightly open, lungs frozen in protest, sandwich hovering mid-air like it might shield her from divine judgment.

“Uh—sure!” Bliss said, way too fast, her voice jumping an octave. “Yeah! Absolutely. There’s totally space. Right, Ruby?”

No response.

Bliss kicked her under the table.

Ruby startled like she’d been electrocuted. “Y-Yes. Totally. So much… room. Yep.”

Chelsea smiled like that was the answer she’d expected all along, then slid gracefully into the seat beside Ruby. Her tray barely made a sound. Her presence, however, was deafening.

Connor sat up straighter, trying to look casual and definitely failing. “So, uh… Chelsea. Right? Cool name. You’ve probably heard that a lot.”

“Once or twice,” Chelsea said, polite, breezy, and utterly unbothered by the chaos she’d just detonated into their lunchtime ecosystem.

Bliss leaned over her tray, launching into survival mode. “I’m Bliss. This is Connor. And Ruby, obviously. You know. Since you… uh… already know her.”

Ruby choked. On air. Again.

Chelsea looked over at her with that same serene calm. “We’ve met. Sort of. But it’s nice to be formally introduced.”

“She’s real good at math,” Connor blurted. “And science. And like… knowing weird ocean facts.”

“What?” Ruby hissed at him, scandalized.

“I’m building your resume,” he whispered.

“Why?!”

“Because you’re turning into a paperclip and I am trying to help!”

Chelsea blinked, amused. “Ocean facts?”

Ruby shrank two inches in her seat. “I like marine biology.”

“Of course you do,” Chelsea said, and somehow it didn’t sound like mockery. It sounded like she was filing that information away for later.

Bliss cut in again, the social air-traffic controller holding this disaster together by sheer willpower. “Anyway, welcome to Oceanside! Mid-year transfers are super rare. You settling in okay?”

Chelsea shrugged lightly. “I get by. This place is… louder than what I’m used to. But I’ve already met some interesting people.” Her eyes flicked back to Ruby, who immediately dropped her gaze like it burned.

Bliss pressed on. “So, what classes do you have? Maybe we’re in some together.”

Connor nodded too fast. “Yeah, I’m in AP Chem. Well, I was, until I almost set the sink on fire.”

“That happened one time,” Ruby groaned.

Chelsea chuckled softly. “I think we’ve got English together,” she said, still looking at Ruby. “Don’t we?”

Ruby managed the world’s stiffest nod. “Yuh-huh.”

“Cool,” Chelsea said, folding her hands neatly. “Then I guess I’ll see you there.”

She stood, lifting her tray like she hadn’t just flattened three teenagers emotionally. “Nice meeting you,” she added with a nod to Bliss and Connor.

Then, before Ruby could process what was happening, Chelsea reached into her bag and—oh god—pulled out a pen.

She scribbled something on a napkin and placed it beside Ruby’s tray.

Her number.

“I figured I’d save you the trouble,” she said with a wink. “Text me whenever.”

Then she was gone.

Like mist. Like magic. Like a royal pain in the neck.

The moment she cleared their table’s radius, Ruby collapsed into her seat with a high-pitched noise no one acknowledged.

Bliss grabbed the napkin like it was evidence. “Oh my god.”

Connor looked stunned. “She gave you her number. You got hot girl number-napped.”

“She sat here,” Ruby whispered. “She talked to me.”

“She wants to talk to you,” Bliss corrected. “And not in a ‘hey, I have a question about the homework’ way. In a ‘hey, I chose you to be my main character subplot’ kind of way.”

“I wasn’t ready for this. I need… I need like, a syllabus. A guidebook. A new identity.”

“You agreed to be friends with her!” Connor hissed. “You technically consented to this chaos!”

“That was yesterday ago! In the courtyard! Under duress!”

“You nodded!”

“I was in shock!”

Bliss placed the napkin gently back in front of her. “Ruby. Deep breaths.”

“I can’t breathe! My lungs betrayed me two minutes ago!”

“Okay,” Connor said, placing both hands on the table. “She’s the most popular girl in school, she thinks you’re cool, she gave you her number, and you didn’t puke. You’re doing amazing.”

Bliss nodded. “And she’s gone now. Which means you can freak out in peace.”

Ruby stared down at the number.

Then up at her friends.

Then back down.

“…I’m gonna die.”

“You’re going to text her,” Bliss corrected gently, already unlocking her phone like the group chat was about to go DEFCON 1. “And we’re going to help you survive this. Okay?”

Ruby didn’t answer.

But she didn’t throw the napkin away either.

Chapter Text

The air in Chelsea’s house always smelled like salt and silence.

It wasn’t really a home, not the way humans imagined it. The walls were too white, too clean. The decor too sharp. It was like someone had Googled “upper middle class coastal aesthetic” and executed it with military precision. Driftwood sculptures, abstract wave art, seashells arranged just-so on floating shelves. Everything curated. Everything fake.

Just like the family that lived there.

Chelsea shut the front door behind her and stood still for a beat, letting the sterile air press down on her like an invisible hand. No sound. No movement. The clock ticked like a metronome from the hallway.

“Mother?” she called out, knowing she wouldn’t get a reply.

She didn’t. Of course not.

Nerissa didn’t do greetings. Or small talk. Or basic maternal affection. Chelsea didn’t remember the last time her mother had asked how her day went. Not because she didn’t care—though maybe she didn’t—but because, in her mind, the answer should be obvious. If the mission was progressing, the day was fine. If not, it was a failure. And Chelsea Van Der Zee was not allowed to fail.

She dropped her bag by the door and made her way to the sitting room, pausing by the giant wall of books—none of which were for reading. Just artifacts. Tokens. History scrubbed clean and displayed behind glass.

Right in the center: a replica of the Trident of Oceanus.

Chelsea looked at it the way other kids might look at a childhood photo—equal parts awe and resentment. Her mother had spoken about it since she was old enough to understand words. The birthright. The stolen symbol. The proof of everything they’d lost.

And now? It was Chelsea’s job to get it back.

No pressure.

A voice echoed from the study. “You’re late.”

Nerissa didn’t raise her voice. She didn’t need to. It always cut like a blade.

Chelsea stepped in, posture perfect, hands folded behind her back like she’d been trained. “School ran long.”

Nerissa didn’t look up from the ancient sea charts spread across her desk. She was circling something in ink, her long nails clicking against the glass tabletop. “You’re wasting time.”

“I made contact.”

That got her attention.

Nerissa looked up, expression unreadable. “With the Gillman girl?”

“Ruby. Yes.”

“And?”

“She’s… not what I expected.”

There was a long silence. Nerissa set her pen down.

Chelsea chose her words carefully. “She’s awkward. Skittish. Her human disguise is holding, but barely. I don’t think she knows what she is.”

Nerissa arched a brow. “You think Agatha never told her?”

“She flinched when I said her name. I’d bet anything she’s in the dark.”

“Then the Krakens have grown even more pathetic than I thought.”

Chelsea didn’t answer. She was too busy thinking.

Because pathetic didn’t begin to cover it. The girl didn’t just act like she wanted to disappear—she made it into an art form. Every movement, every word, every stammered breath was a lesson in how to be forgettable. And not the kind of forgettable that came with clever strategy, either. No, Ruby Gillman wasn’t playing some brilliant long game. She wasn’t feigning meekness for the sake of hiding in plain sight.

She was just like that.

Chelsea had spent hours imagining what the Kraken heir would be like—commanding, cunning, dangerous beneath a schoolgirl’s smile. What she got instead was a human girl with anxiety in her bones and shoulders that curled inward like they were trying to apologize for existing.

It would’ve been funny if it weren’t so… infuriating.

All that power. All that legacy. All that history.

Wasted.

“She’s weak,” Chelsea said aloud, because that was what her mother wanted to hear. “She’ll be easy to manipulate.”

Nerissa didn’t nod. Didn’t smile. She never did.

“Good,” she said coolly. “Make her trust you. Find out where they’ve hidden it.”

Chelsea didn’t ask what “it” was. She didn’t need to. The Trident of Oceanus. The key to the mermaids’ return. The weapon of their reclamation. The obsession that had shaped every single one of her mother’s waking moments—and, by extension, Chelsea’s entire life.

The mission wasn’t just a task. It was proof.

Proof that Chelsea had value. That she could matter. That she was enough.

She left the study before Nerissa could say anything else.

Her bedroom was the only place in the house that looked remotely lived in. Posters on the walls. A cluttered desk. Too many shoes. Not because she cared about the clutter, but because mess made her feel… human.

Safer.

She sat down, pulled out her phone, and stared at Ruby’s name on her fake student profile.

She should’ve felt smug. Should’ve felt powerful.

Instead?

She felt tired.

Because the truth was, pretending to be human was exhausting. Pretending to be liked was exhausting. And worst of all—some traitorous part of her was starting to enjoy it.

The way people looked at her in the hall. The way they whispered. The way they stared.

It didn’t matter that it was shallow or objectifying or fake. It was attention. And that was more than Nerissa had ever given her without strings.

She laid back on her bed and stared at the ceiling.

You’re interesting, she’d told Ruby.

It had been a lie. At first.

Now? She wasn’t so sure.

The thing about Ruby Gillman was that she noticed things.

Not the way smart people did—Chelsea had seen that kind of sharpness before, the calculated kind, like a knife constantly being sharpened. Ruby didn’t analyze. She didn’t strategize.

She flinched.

Every time Chelsea came near her.

Every time their eyes met in the hallway.

Every time Chelsea said her name with that polite, calculated smile.

Chelsea had tried everything. Casual greetings. Shared classes. Hallway proximity. Small waves during lunch that looked effortless but were actually a masterclass in approachable social positioning. All of it, wasted.

Ruby didn’t trust her.

And not in the way most humans distrusted beautiful, perfect girls on instinct. This was something deeper. Instinctual. She looked at Chelsea like she was a fire alarm that wouldn’t stop beeping.

And the worst part?

She wasn’t wrong.

Chelsea leaned against the lockers just outside their biology class, arms crossed as she observed Ruby down the hall. The girl hadn’t seen her yet—her head was low, steps fast, shoulders tight like she expected the world to throw dodgeballs at her without warning.

Neptune help me, Chelsea thought bitterly, the heir to the Kraken throne jumps like a cartoon cat every time someone shuts a locker.

Ruby stopped just short of the classroom door and glanced behind her.

Chelsea didn’t move.

Ruby’s eyes scanned the hallway once—twice—then locked onto hers like a deer staring down headlights.

Chelsea offered her a casual smile. Nothing pointed. Nothing smug.

Ruby immediately looked away and ducked into class.

Chelsea sighed through her nose and followed.

The bell rang just as she slid into the seat beside Ruby—the one she’d quietly claimed two days ago and hadn’t surrendered since. Ruby looked anywhere but at her, fingers twitching on the edge of her notebook like they were trying to write out an escape plan in Morse code.

Charming, Chelsea thought, opening her own notebook, empty page glaring back at her. You’d think I was the one who stole her bloodline and banished her ancestors.

It wasn’t supposed to be like this.

She had expected… not ease, necessarily, but control. A careful infiltration. Friendly overtures. A bond of trust built over weeks and weaponized at the right time. But Ruby had upended all of it by refusing to play along.

Which meant Chelsea had to adjust.

If Ruby didn’t trust her, then she’d earn that trust the way mortals did: persistence and politeness and perfectly performed vulnerability.

And if that meant pretending to care about her stupid lunch or her even stupider friends—so be it.

She leaned slightly toward Ruby, voice low and honeyed. “You always walk that fast in the hallway, or were you just trying to set a world record?”

Ruby jumped again. “I—I wasn’t—no—just, uh. Late.”

Chelsea didn’t blink. “You’re three minutes early.”

Ruby said nothing. She stared at her desk like she wanted to fall through it and be buried under the tiles.

Chelsea softened her tone. “Sorry. Just teasing. I didn’t mean to scare you.”

She meant every word of it.

Except for the sorry.

Ruby glanced at her, then back down. “You didn’t scare me.”

She was lying. Horribly.

“Sure,” Chelsea said, letting it drop.

For now.

Between classes, Chelsea tracked her movements with the focus of a seasoned operative. Ruby with Bliss. Ruby alone. Ruby pretending not to see her in the courtyard while nearly tripping over her own shoelaces. Every twitch was a code to crack. Every side-glance, a failed firewall.

It should’ve been frustrating. And it was.

But more than that?

It was interesting.

Chelsea had met heirs before. Merchildren groomed for greatness. Vain. Sharp. Trained in court diplomacy before they could swim. Ruby Gillman was none of those things.

She was unguarded, anxious, unguarded again, and weirdly endearing if you stared long enough and squinted past the cringe.

Chelsea sighed and tucked a piece of hair behind her ear as the final bell rang. Her smile sharpened.

She’d worn down better defenses than this before.

Ruby Gillman didn’t stand a chance.

Chelsea didn’t usually approach groups.

Groups meant noise. Groups meant performance. Groups meant putting on the “just-human-enough” face, and doing so for more than one person at a time was exhausting.

But this?

This was worth it.

Chelsea found them easily.

Bliss and Connor were in their usual spot—half a bench between them, lunch containers open, casual laughter ricocheting between bites of whatever weird, aggressively healthy thing Bliss had brought today and whatever neon-snack-dust-covered garbage Connor was inhaling.

No Ruby.

Unfortunate. But not unworkable.

Chelsea smoothed the pleats of her skirt, adjusted her expression from “calculating predator” to “relatable new girl,” and made her approach.

“Hi,” she said, soft and shy, as if she hadn’t timed this with military precision. “Mind if I sit?”

Bliss looked up, surprised, and Connor blinked like she’d spoken in ancient Greek.

“Oh. Uh. Sure?” Bliss scooted over slightly.

She sat with practiced ease, folding her hands on the table and tilting her head just enough to appear friendly but not invasive. It was all in the angles. Appear open. Appear small. Appear harmless.

“So…” she began, voice light, eyes flicking between them with just enough faux hesitation, “I was hoping I could ask you guys something. About Ruby.”

Immediately, the shift was visible. Not defensive—protective. Bliss’s eyebrows lifted just a touch. Connor straightened like someone had said the name of a sacred animal.

Chelsea bit her lip—just enough to sell nervousness. “I—I hope it’s not weird. It’s just… I like her. I really do. She seems sweet. Kind. A little… um…” She trailed off, laughing awkwardly. “Okay, a lot awkward. But in a charming way!”

Bliss narrowed her eyes a little. “Okay…”

“She agreed to be friends,” Chelsea rushed on, tone carefully edged with insecurity, “but I think I scared her. I didn’t mean to. I just—she looked so lonely at lunch that first day, and I thought maybe we could connect, but now she can’t even look at me and I just feel awful, you know?”

Connor glanced at Bliss, brow raised. Bliss stayed quiet for a beat, then sighed.

“Okay. To be fair,” she said, “you do kind of have cliche bully in a coming-of-age movie energy.”

Chelsea blinked. “I—what?”

Bliss shrugged. “Ruby’s just… weird with new people. And people in general. She gets twitchy when she’s stressed, and she’s basically stressed constantly. Don’t take it personally.”

“I’m trying not to,” Chelsea said, eyes softening in what she imagined was a very sympathetic way. “I just want to understand her. I mean, you two get along with her so easily. I thought maybe… you’d know how I could make her feel more comfortable?”

Connor scratched the back of his neck. “Honestly? We just… don’t push her. We let her freak out, and then we tell her to stop freaking out, and then she’s fine.”

“Emotional whiplash therapy,” Bliss said, sipping from her water bottle. “Very effective.”

Chelsea laughed again, this time with a bit more sincerity than she liked. “I see. So patience, mostly?”

“And sarcasm,” Connor offered.

Bliss smirked. “Lots of sarcasm.”

“Right.” Chelsea nodded, carefully etching every word into memory. So that's the trick. Make her feel normal. Pretend to roll with the awkwardness. Reassure. Don’t overwhelm. Ease in, like wading into freezing water instead of cannonballing straight into the abyss.

“Thanks,” she said, voice soft and full of mock vulnerability. “That really helps. I just didn’t expect to care this much, you know? About… being her friend.”

Both Bliss and Connor softened at that. Chelsea could almost laugh—if only it weren’t so pitifully easy.

But that was the thing about humans. All it took was the right look, the right line, and they told you everything.

She was getting closer. Ruby didn’t even know it yet, but the trap was already halfway sprung.

And Chelsea?

She was just getting started.

Chapter Text

Ruby Gillman was fine.

Totally fine. Completely. Entirely. Unequivocally—

She pulled her hoodie sleeves down over her hands, clutching her phone like it was a lifeline as she tried to blend into the tide of students flooding the hallways. Everyone was talking, laughing, shoving past one another in a blur of backpacks and sneakers and body spray. Normal stuff. Regular stuff. Stuff Ruby had mastered surviving by now.

And yet.

Her throat felt tight. Her heart had been thudding against her ribs all day like it was trying to punch its way out. She hadn’t seen Chelsea since lunch, but that didn’t stop her brain from whispering: she’s behind you, she’s watching you, she knows.

Ruby bit the inside of her cheek and tried not to flinch every time someone brushed too close.

It was stupid. Objectively stupid. Chelsea hadn’t done anything since the last time they spoke. Hadn’t cornered her. Hadn’t interrogated her. Hadn’t even looked at her—at least, not in a way anyone else would notice.

But Ruby noticed. She always noticed.

And she’d spent the entire week stuck in this silent tug-of-war with herself: paranoia vs. logic, instinct vs. hope. She wanted to believe Bliss and Connor—that Chelsea was just strange, not sinister—but every time she caught a glimpse of that red hair or that not-quite-smile, something deep in her gut twisted like seaweed in a current.

Now, as she rounded the corner to the stairwell, her vision was starting to tunnel. Not dramatically. Just a soft blurring at the edges. Like the world was tilting slightly, and she hadn’t found her footing yet.

She ducked into the empty stairwell and sat down on the middle step, fingers trembling as she dug through her bag. Gum? No. Granola bar? Nope. Where was her—

There.

She found her emergency tin of mints and popped one into her mouth, focusing on the sharp sting of peppermint against her tongue.

Breathe. In for four. Hold. Out for seven. That’s what the therapist app said, right? In for four…

Her chest ached. She couldn’t tell if she was shivering or just vibrating from the inside out.

This wasn’t her first panic attack. But knowing what it was didn’t make it easier.

The worst part? It wasn’t even about Chelsea. Not really. It was about everything. School. Pressure. The constant, unbearable fear of being seen—actually, truly seen—and what that would mean for her life, her family, her already fragile grip on normalcy.

Her hands clutched her knees, nails digging into denim.

If Chelsea knew the truth—and Ruby was almost sure she did—it was over.

She’d have to tell her mom. She’d have to explain everything. She’d be pulled out of school, forced into hiding again, probably never allowed near the ocean or a normal social life for the rest of her life. Her friends would find out, and maybe they’d understand—or maybe they’d look at her like a monster. Like something freakish and alien and other.

A tear slid down her cheek. She swiped at it furiously.

Don’t cry. You don’t get to cry. It’s not even real yet. Nothing’s happened. You’re making this worse. Stop it.

But she couldn’t. The breath wouldn’t come easily. Her lungs felt like they were trying to suck air through a straw, and the harder she tried to steady herself, the more everything tightened.

She curled in on herself, forehead resting on her knees.

Just ride it out. A few minutes. You know this. You’ll come back up.

Just a little longer underwater.

Chelsea had been watching from a distance. Like always. It was safer that way. Less likely to raise suspicions. Less likely to… feel anything.

Today’s intel-gathering had been disappointing. Ruby Gillman continued to be, in a word, unimpressive.

No sharp edges. No flashes of power. Just... high-functioning anxiety wrapped in a hoodie and a tendency to trip over her own feet. If this was the legendary heir to the Kraken line, then Nerissa’s stories were either outdated or grossly exaggerated.

She’d watched Ruby wander through the halls like a ghost all day, nervy and twitchy and barely holding it together. The girl had missed half a period. She’d dropped her pen four times in biology. At one point, she flinched because someone opened a soda can too loudly.

Honestly, it was starting to feel a little pathetic.

But then Ruby didn’t show up to her next class.

And that—that—was odd.

Chelsea hadn’t planned to follow her.

She was already losing track of the mission. She was supposed to be charming. Subtle. Close, but not obvious. That’s what her mother had drilled into her head for years. “Get close to her. Earn her trust. Take what she doesn’t know she’s guarding.”

Not: “Care.”

Not: “Feel anything.”

And definitely not: Go looking for her when she disappears, like some worried friend with a heartbeat.

Chelsea rounded the corner and paused just before the stairwell.

The air was different here. Quieter. Dimmer.

And then she saw her.

Ruby sat hunched in on herself on the stairs, arms wrapped tight around her legs, shoulders quaking with shallow, silent breaths. Her face was buried in her knees. She looked… small. Not just physically—though she did seem unusually compact, for someone with Kraken blood—but emotionally. Energetically. Like someone who had been carved out from the inside and was still pretending to be whole.

Chelsea froze.

Her instincts screamed at her to leave.

This wasn’t useful intel. This was a vulnerability. A liability. An emotional mess she had no business stepping into. And besides—

She didn’t know what to do with this.

What would her mother say? “Good. Press the advantage. Emotional weakness is opportunity.”

What did she want to say?

Nothing. Something. Anything.

She stepped inside before she could stop herself.

“…Ruby?”

The girl flinched violently at the sound. Her head snapped up, eyes wide, cheeks streaked with tears she clearly hadn’t meant anyone to see.

Chelsea hesitated. “It’s just me.”

“Why—why are you—” Ruby’s voice cracked, and she turned away, wiping her face with the back of her sleeve. “I—I’m fine. I’m just—fine.”

“You’re not,” Chelsea said softly, before she could think better of it.

Ruby went still.

Silence stretched between them, taut as a fishing line. Chelsea could feel her own words hanging in the air—unscripted, raw, too real.

She didn’t do this. She didn’t do comforting. Or vulnerability. Or sad girls trembling on staircases.

But Ruby wasn’t just any girl.

And for some reason, watching her come apart like this made something clench in Chelsea’s chest—tight and sharp and unfamiliar.

She sat down on the step above her.

Careful. Not too close. But not distant, either.

“…Do you want me to go?”

Ruby shook her head. It was barely perceptible.

That surprised Chelsea more than it should’ve.

A long breath escaped her. She stared ahead at the railing, trying to figure out what came next. How did people do this? Comforting? Soothing? Was she supposed to offer tissues? Pat her back? Sing a lullaby? What was the human protocol for this?

She settled for, “You don’t have to tell me what happened.”

Ruby sniffled, still curled tight. “Good. Because I don’t know.”

“That’s fair.”

Another silence. But this one felt a little less jagged. Still fraying, but not dangerous.

“I get it,” Chelsea offered after a beat.

Ruby made a weak, scoffing noise. “Sure you do.”

“No, really.” Chelsea risked a glance at her. “You’re not the only one who feels like they’re going to explode sometimes.”

Ruby blinked at her, eyes glassy and raw. “You? Miss Perfect? Exploding?”

Chelsea smiled faintly. “Only internally. I’m very tidy about it.”

That got a small, involuntary huff of air from Ruby. Almost a laugh.

Chelsea’s shoulders relaxed. Just a little.

She didn’t know what this moment was. She only knew it wasn’t part of the plan. Not the one her mother would approve of. Not the one she’d come here with. And not the one she should be following.

But maybe, for now…

She could sit here a little longer.

And just let Ruby breathe.

They sat in silence again. Just the two of them, a bundle of nerves and a polished mask, side by side on cold concrete stairs like it was normal. Like it was fine.

But Chelsea’s stomach had twisted itself into something unfamiliar. Not strategy. Not nerves. Guilt?

No. No, that wasn’t allowed. Guilt didn’t belong in the mission.

She shouldn’t be here. Shouldn’t be doing this. Shouldn’t care.

This wasn’t what she was trained for.

So why hadn’t she stood up yet?

Why hadn’t she laughed off the moment, told Ruby she was overreacting, slithered her way back into being untouchable?

Why did she feel bad that Ruby had cried?

Chelsea’s mouth moved before her brain approved it.

“You know,” she said, voice light. “About the whole… ‘friends’ thing.”

Ruby blinked, startled.

Chelsea twisted her fingers together, nails digging into her palm where Ruby couldn’t see.

“I get it if you didn’t mean it,” she said, trying for casual. “Saying yes, I mean. You probably felt pressured. I kind of made it weird, showing up out of nowhere like a one-girl charm offensive. I was—am—new and, like, unreasonably popular for someone who hasn’t even finished unpacking.”

She forced a laugh, brittle around the edges. “I can be intense. I know that. You wouldn’t be the first person who felt cornered.”

Ruby stared at her, mouth slightly open.

Chelsea tried not to let her expression crack. Her mind was screaming at her—What are you doing? This is idiotic. You had her. You had an in. She’s Kraken royalty, for Neptune’s sake. If you lose this thread now, you may as well start digging your own grave.

But her heart wasn’t listening.

Maybe Ruby didn’t want this. Maybe this entire thing—this act—had gone too far. Maybe it wasn’t even an act anymore. She didn’t know. She just knew that Ruby looked like a hurricane victim right now, and all Chelsea could think about was how she didn’t want to be another storm.

“I’ll back off,” Chelsea said, quieter now. “If it was too much. I get it.”

She was already starting to stand when Ruby’s voice stopped her.

“…Don’t.”

Chelsea blinked. “What?”

Ruby looked up at her. Still blotchy. Still shaken. But steadier now. Her hands were clenched in her sleeves, knuckles pale, but her eyes were steady.

“I didn’t feel pressured,” she said slowly. “I mean. Okay. Maybe I did. A little. Because you’re, like, you. And I’m…” She gestured vaguely at herself. “Me. But I said yes because I wanted to try.”

Chelsea stared.

Ruby shrugged a little. “It’s scary. And confusing. But you were… nice. Just now. You didn’t have to be.”

Chelsea’s breath caught in her throat.

“And,” Ruby added, with a crooked, hesitant little smile, “I think you’re interesting too.”

Chelsea sat back down without thinking.

There it was again. That strange, impossible, aching warmth spreading across her ribs like sunlight under ice. It wasn’t strategy. It wasn’t victory. It wasn’t even relief.

It was… something else.

Something worse.

Something better.

“I’m not always nice,” Chelsea said after a moment, voice quieter than she meant it to be.

Ruby just smiled a little more.

“I know,” she said. “Me neither.”

And Chelsea… didn’t know what to say to that.

Her heart swelled. Her plan crumbled. And for one stupid, terrifying second, she forgot why she’d come to Oceanside in the first place.

She stood up and walked away.

Just like that.

No dramatic exit. No sarcastic quip. No weird smile or cryptic glance. Just stood, dusted off her skirt, mumbled something that might’ve been "Later," and vanished down the stairs without looking back.

Ruby stared at the empty space beside her for a full thirty seconds before she remembered how to blink.

What… just happened?

She glanced down at her hands, still clenched tightly in her sleeves. She’d finally stopped shaking. Not because Chelsea had said something reassuring—though, to be fair, she kind of had—but because of the way she’d said it.

Like she’d meant it. Like she’d wanted to take the pressure off.

Like she cared.

Ruby’s brain was working overtime, trying to figure out how any of this fit into the mental image she’d painted all week: Chelsea Van Der Zee, the beautiful, intimidating, perfect girl from who-knows-where, who definitely had an agenda, and was definitely going to ruin her life.

That girl didn’t apologize.

That girl didn’t offer outs.

That girl didn’t… look sad after you said you still wanted to be friends.

Ruby sat in stunned silence, the quiet stairwell pressing in around her.

Her first instinct was still to be wary. Obviously. Chelsea was weird. Not weird like Bliss, who brought glitter glue to class and stuck googly eyes on the whiteboard. Not weird like Connor, who once took a bet to eat ten gummy worms soaked in pickle juice. No, Chelsea was a different kind of weird.

Unreadable weird. Polished weird. Why-do-you-know-my-name-before-we’ve-met weird.

But…

She hadn’t done anything bad.

Yet.

And she had been kind. In that scene they just had—Ruby was practically collapsing under the weight of her own nervous system, and Chelsea… stayed.

Listened.

Even offered her a way out.

Ruby stared at the stair she’d been fixated on the entire time, tracing the chipped paint with her eyes.

Maybe Bliss was right.

Maybe she wasn’t a spy. Or a sea witch. Or a kraken-exposing siren sent to ruin everything.

Maybe she was just… kind of a weird girl.

And Ruby?

Ruby was really weird.

She gave a tiny, breathy laugh and rubbed at her eyes with the sleeve of her hoodie.

The thought didn’t scare her as much as it used to.

The hallway felt too bright after the stairwell. Too loud. Too normal.

Ruby squinted as she stepped out, blinking against the buzz of fluorescent lights. She half expected to see Chelsea lingering nearby like a ghost with good posture, but nope. The hallway was Chelsea-free.

Which left her alone with her thoughts. Again.

She didn’t get far before Bliss and Connor rounded the corner like a tactical response team.

“There you are!” Bliss practically launched at her. “You vanished! I thought you got kidnapped!”

Connor held up a juice pouch. “I brought electrolytes in case you fainted.”

Ruby blinked. “That’s not how electrolytes work.”

“Well, I panicked,” he said, stabbing the straw in with righteous indignation. “Let me live.”

Bliss stepped back just enough to inspect her, arms crossed. “You okay?”

Ruby nodded slowly. “Yeah. I had a… moment. But I’m fine now.”

Bliss and Connor exchanged a look. One of those unspoken telepathic conversations Ruby was sure all best friends had developed just to make her feel like an NPC.

“What kind of moment?” Bliss asked gently.

Ruby hesitated.

Then, with a sigh, she mumbled, “Panic attack.”

Connor’s face fell. “Oh.”

“Rubes…” Bliss moved closer again, her tone going soft. “Do you need to go home? We can walk you out right now.”

“No. I’m okay. It passed.” Ruby leaned back against the lockers and forced a breath through her nose. “Chelsea found me, actually. Helped me calm down.”

That earned a beat of silence.

“What?” Bliss said flatly.

“She what?” Connor echoed, like it needed the backup.

“She just—she sat with me. Didn’t say much at first, which honestly helped. Then she said… like, I didn’t have to be her friend if I didn’t want to. She was giving me an out.”

Bliss stared. “So… she wasn’t trying to hypnotize you? Or decode your DNA? Or, like, challenge you to a magical duel?”

Ruby rolled her eyes. “Shut up.”

“I’m serious!” Bliss said. “You were convinced she was some kind of ancient evil in a crop top.”

“I still think she’s hiding something,” Ruby grumbled. “She’s too smooth. Too composed. No one’s that together unless they’re faking it or a Bond villain.”

Connor made a thinking noise. “You’re not wrong.”

“But…” Ruby scratched the back of her neck, cheeks pink. “She didn’t seem… bad. Not today. Maybe I overreacted.”

Bliss placed a dramatic hand over her heart. “Oh my god. Ruby Gillman just admitted she might’ve been wrong.”

“I didn’t say I was wrong,” Ruby said. “I said maybe.”

“That’s still progress,” Connor said, sipping from his juice pouch like a smug little gremlin. “We’re calling this a win.”

Ruby smiled despite herself. The anxiety still curled in her stomach like seaweed around an anchor, but it didn’t feel quite as heavy anymore. Just murky.

Maybe Chelsea wasn’t the sea witch incarnate. Maybe she was just a confusing girl who’d accidentally triggered every alarm Ruby had ever built around herself.

And maybe—maybe—there was a tiny part of Ruby that was curious about what came next.

The moonlight made the penthouse look colder than it already felt.

All glass, chrome, and sharp-edged design—the kind of place that looked like a luxury ad but felt like a locked room. There were no personal touches. No warmth. Just a too-clean silence that wrapped around her shoulders like frost.

Chelsea sat curled on the edge of her bed, one leg drawn up, the other dangling off the side like a forgotten thought. Her reflection stared back at her from the balcony doors. Perfect posture. Perfect skin. Perfect monster.

She had tried. Neptune help her; she’d tried to make sense of what had happened earlier.

She’d offered Ruby an out.

That wasn’t the plan. That wasn’t her. You didn’t hand the kraken royal line a sword and then turn your back on them. You didn’t spend your whole life being molded for a mission and then flinch at the first sign of resistance.

And yet—

The look on Ruby’s face. The way her eyes had widened, not in fear, but in confusion. The way she’d said she wanted to try. It had cracked something in Chelsea’s composure, a hairline fracture that hadn’t sealed even hours later.

She’d come home, gone through her usual routines—showered, skin mask, mom-mandated check-in call—and then collapsed into bed like her bones were too heavy.

And now she couldn’t stop running the moment over in her head.

You must’ve felt pressured.

You probably didn’t know what to say to me.

I get it.

Why had she said all that? Why hadn’t she stopped herself?

Nerissa’s voice echoed from some distant corner of her memory. “You don’t get attached. You don’t improvise. You observe. You infiltrate. You conquer.”

Right. Conquer.

Not comfort. Not compliment. Definitely not connect.

Chelsea exhaled through her nose and reached for her phone, fully prepared to throw it across the room if she saw another message from “xo~surfcrush93” or “Shane 💪🔥.” The local boys had been exhausting.

The notification bar told her she had three new messages.

Two were garbage. One was… different.

Ruby Gillman:
Hey. Just wanted to say thanks for earlier. I was kinda a mess. You didn’t have to help, but you did. So… yeah. Thanks.

Chelsea stared at the screen like it had personally offended her.

She had almost forgotten she’d given Ruby her number—just in case, she’d said. Tactical advantage. Keep the target close.

Now, Ruby had used it. Not to panic. Not to accuse. Not to unravel anything.

Just… to say thank you.

Chelsea’s thumb hovered over the screen. She could delete it. Pretend she never saw it. That would be the smart move. The one her mother would approve of.

Instead, she read it again.

And again.

Until her chest started to feel weird and full in that way she didn’t have a name for.

Ruby Gillman, the pathetic, anxious little heir, had thanked her. Genuinely. Trustingly.

It would’ve been funny if it didn’t make her heart twist.

She clicked off the phone screen and let it fall beside her, face down on the comforter.

She didn’t reply.

But for the first time all night, Chelsea smiled.

Just a little.

Just for herself.