Simon stood across from Lyra, his expression cold, yet his eyes glinted with an intensity that spoke of an unyielding determination. Lyra held his gaze, but there was a shadow of hesitation there, something rarely seen in her sharp, calculating eyes.
"I've crafted a spell, one powerful enough to reveal her true nature," she began slowly, her voice laced with the weight of its implications. "But," she paused, her tone hardening, "I need her. Or at least her blood. Without that connection, the spell is worthless."
"Not possible," Simon replied immediately, his tone like steel. There was no room for negotiation, no chink in his resolve. Simon had long since decided he would not expose Stella to anyone, much less someone as unpredictable as Lyra. He understood better than most the cruelty of the world—how easily curiosity turned to obsession, and obsession to exploitation, especially when the allure of a mermaid was involved.
Lyra sighed, frustration flickering across her face as she crossed her arms. "Then we're at an impasse, Simon. I've tried every variation of the spell, and there are no alternatives. If you want this, you're going to have to trust me."
Simon's eyes narrowed, his stance unwavering. "Then think harder. There must be something else." His voice was a soft menace, a deadly patience wrapped around his command.
A thick silence settled between them, punctuated only by the quiet crackle of the candle flames casting long shadows across the room. Simon's jaw tightened as he weighed his options, his thoughts churning, but he knew he would not risk Stella. Not even for answers.
"Fine," Simon said, a calculating look darkening his gaze. "Is there a way I can keep constant watch over the house… and her?"
Lyra's eyes glinted with something between amusement and annoyance as she mulled over his question, finally reaching into a velvet pouch at her side. "Yes, there is one." She pulled out several dark, polished marbles, their glossy surfaces reflecting the dim candlelight. "Place these carefully around the house," she instructed, handing him the marbles. "They'll work like microphones, capturing even the faintest whisper. You'll hear every word, every sound."
Simon examined the marbles, the weight of each one cold and solid in his palm. "Good," he muttered, tucking them away. "And if, by chance, I overhear her actual birthday date, will that be enough to proceed with your spell?" His voice held a cautious optimism, though it remained threaded with a steely wariness.
Lyra gave a single nod, a slight smirk tugging at the corner of her mouth. "Yes. With her true birth date, I can move forward without needing her blood or presence directly."
A faint tension hung in the air as they exchanged a final, wordless understanding. Simon knew he was bending to her magic, something he despised, yet he also knew that whatever was hidden within Stella was worth every calculated risk.
Simon approached Stella's house, the marbles hidden in his pocket, glistening faintly under the moonlight. It was nearly midnight, and he could feel the silence of the hour pressing around him. Shadows cast by the trees lined his path like sentinels, but his focus was singular: he needed to slip inside and plant these magical devices without a trace.
He knew the household would be vulnerable at this hour. Mallory, a light sleeper, was likely asleep by now, and Elizabeth would be resting, exhausted from the evening's spells. Only Stella remained, and Simon calculated how to distract her just long enough. He remembered how the house was sealed by the guardian spell, a barrier meant to repel any outsider. Yet he knew its one flaw: the spell permitted those who had already crossed its threshold once before. And Simon, familiar with this secret, had no trouble crossing it again.
The spell welcomed him like a ghost slipping through walls. Inside, the house was steeped in dim light and quiet shadows. He could sense the traces of magic lingering in the air, a hum of protection layered thickly within the walls. Moving stealthily through the hallways, he scoped out the best places to plant the marbles—corners, crevices, places just out of sight but perfect for picking up whispers of conversation.
Simon's calculated approach had paid off—Stella was already asleep, her room bathed in soft shadows and moonlight seeping through the window. Her breathing was steady, deep, her figure barely moving under the covers. Relieved by this unexpected quiet, Simon moved with practiced precision, checking each marble he'd planted thus far. One was concealed within the cushions in the hall, nestled so deeply it would be nearly impossible to find without thorough searching. Another he'd discreetly hidden on a shelf where it would pick up the soft murmurs and footsteps of anyone passing by.
The final marble, however, was for Stella alone.
He approached her bed with the quiet intensity of a predator, his movements so silent that not even the floor creaked beneath him. Simon observed her for a long moment, making sure she was truly deep in sleep, her breaths falling in rhythmic patterns. Gently, he flattened the marble in his palm, muttering a quiet charm over it to ensure it would remain unnoticed. Then, with careful precision, he pressed it under the rim of her bed, securing it in place.
The marble glinted faintly for a second, as if acknowledging its purpose, then faded to match the shadows under the bed frame. He straightened, the thrill of his success pulsing through him. This marble was the most critical—positioned so close to her, it would capture her voice even in whispers, catching the faintest clues to the secrets she kept even from herself.
As Simon stood over Stella, a strange tension settled into his chest. The flicker of moonlight brushed her face, casting her in a fragile glow. She lay in an unguarded slumber, her chest rising and falling with each breath, completely unaware of the darkness observing her from the shadows of her room.
She shifted slightly, turning in her sleep so her face was now angled toward him, her expression soft and peaceful. Her delicate features were haloed by the dim light, as if she were part of the moon itself. Simon's jaw tightened, his gaze sweeping over her—memorizing every detail, every curve of vulnerability. For a moment, he found himself mesmerized, almost unnervingly so, his instincts flickering with an urge to protect.
He could still sense the faint warmth of the guardian spells in the walls, now helpless against his presence. They hadn't been cast to keep out someone who had already slipped through once before. It was an irony he both resented and appreciated. But tonight, he wasn't here to harm her; tonight, his intentions were a twisted version of protection.
"Stay safe, little fish," he murmured, his words slipping into the darkness as if they might somehow guard her against what was to come.
With a final glance, he turned and left, his figure merging with the night outside, leaving the house cloaked in silence and secrets. But his promise hung in the air, hauntingly potent, an unspoken vow that lingered like a whisper she would never hear.