Chapter 63
We sit in the dimly lit lab, the air thick with anticipation as Peter pulls up the readings from the mapping machine. The screens hum softly, casting an eerie glow on the three of us. I feel my heart thudding in my chest, my palms slick with sweat as I wait for Peter to explain what it all means.
He clears his throat, pointing to the first chart on the screen. "Okay, this one is Wake’s. The second one here—that’s yours, Phoebe. And this," he gestures to a third chart, "is the control. A standard human genome for comparison."
I lean forward, squinting at the display, but it might as well be written in a foreign language. Genetic sequencing has never been my strong suit. It all looks like jumbled lines and numbers, nothing I can make sense of.
"That’s incredible," I mutter, half to myself. "But what does it actually say?"
Peter takes a deep breath, clearly in his element now as he points to the control chart. "Okay, so a typical human genetic makeup looks like this. These sequences are consistent across all humans, with minor variations, of course. That’s how we track ancestry, traits, all of that."
He taps the screen, zooming in on a section of the control chart. "But here," he moves to Wake’s chart, "this is where things get interesting."
Wake and I both lean in as Peter highlights a section of the genetic code. "See this anomaly here?" Peter explains. "This strand of information—it’s unique to sirens. It’s what we believe is responsible for the biological divide between humans and your kind, Wake."
Wake’s eyes narrow, and he studies the code closely. After a few moments, he speaks, his voice low and steady. "They’re not the same."
I glance over at him, confused. "What do you mean?"
He points to the charts, tracing the lines with his finger. "This sequencing. Yours and mine. It’s similar, yes, but it’s not identical."
I stare at the screen again, my heart skipping a beat. He’s right. There are subtle differences between my chart and Wake’s, little variances I hadn’t noticed at first.
Peter looks between us, baffled. "How could you possibly know that?" He shakes his head. "I’ve been working with genetic code my entire career, and even I need a reference guide to read through this stuff."
"It’s just another language," I say absently, my mind still racing. "Sirens are really good at picking up languages."
Wake’s jaw tightens. "That doesn’t answer the question. Why are they different?"
Peter stutters, his usual calm demeanor slipping. "I—I think it’s because Phoebe’s code has been degraded."
Wake’s expression darkens, his lip curling into a snarl. "Are you calling implying that my mate is inferior?"
Peter’s eyes go wide, panic flashing across his face as he rushes to explain. "No, no! That’s not what I’m saying at all. It’s just… if we were able to compare her genetic code to her mother’s, for example, I’m sure we’d see the same mutation. It’s likely due to being away from the ocean for too long."
I nod, piecing it together. "Wake, you said sirens lose their abilities when they’re away from their homesea for too long. Maybe that’s what’s happening here, the DNA is… breaking down, becoming more human."
Peter nods enthusiastically, catching onto the thread. "Exactly! It’s like the thing that makes you a siren—whatever it is—is slowly fading."
Wake turns to Peter, his gaze sharp and unrelenting. "Can it be fixed?"
Peter hesitates, glancing nervously between us. "Even if it can be… what exactly are we expecting to happen here?"
I take a deep, shaky breath, the weight of what we’re talking about sinking in. "Best case scenario," I say, trying to keep my voice steady, "I’ll probably be able to talk to fish."
"That’s… the best case?" Peter snorts, though his laugh is shaky. "This is so fucking insane, Phoebe," he mutters. "Not to mention ridiculously risky."
I narrow my eyes, feeling my patience thinning. "Genetic editing is a well-researched field, Peter. There have been plenty of successes. It's not like we're reinventing the wheel here."
Peter shakes his head, his expression strained. "Successes? Sure, on a small scale. We’re talking about changing things like eye color or picking the sex of a baby before it’s born, not rewriting your DNA to trigger some ancient, dormant superpowers! We don’t even know what that sequence does. You could end up with some weird ass cancer, previously unknown to man or—hell, complete molecular breakdown. The potential side effects are literally unfathomable."
I roll my eyes, feeling the tension between us rising. "The chances of that happening are—
"The chances are non-zero," Wake growls. "So you’re not doing it."
I whirl around to face him, my frustration boiling over. "Excuse me? I’m a grown woman, Wake. I understand the risks, and I can make my own decisions."
Wake steps closer, his presence commanding, eyes locked on mine with that intensity that makes my breath hitch. "Then you should be smart enough to know that rushing into something like this isn’t worth your life, Phoebe."
I cross my arms, glaring at him. "You were the one threatening to leave if I didn’t figure this out."
His expression softens, though his voice remains firm. "I wanted you to give me a reason to wait," he says quietly. "And you have. I swear to see this through—for your sake."
The tension drains from my body as his words sink in. His eyes, so fierce and unyielding, are now filled with something softer, something that tightens my throat. I blink, my vision blurring with unshed tears.
I don’t want to fight him. Not right now.
"Fine," I whisper, my voice trembling. "We’ll wait until we have a better plan."
Peter lets out a long, relieved breath, visibly relaxing. "Thank you," he says, the tension easing from his face. "I’ll do more research, figure out exactly what we’re dealing with. In the meantime, you should get some rest. And Wake, you should probably head back to the Marble before someone realizes that you…have legs."
Wake nods, his gaze still fixed on me. "Your wounds," he says quietly, his eyes flicking to the bandages covering my arms and side.
Heat blooms in my belly at the memory of his touch, the way his tongue had healed me before. I bite my lip, my heart racing with the thought of that strange, intimate sensation—how his mouth on my skin had driven me crazy, saving me, even as it was marking me.
"I wish we had the time," I admit, giving him a sad smile. "But Peter’s right. Marina…Delphinium kept the transformation a secret for a reason, and I have a feeling we should follow her lead. You should get back before anyone notices you’re gone."
Wake’s expression darkens with a hint of reluctance, but he nods. "I’ll return. But this conversation isn’t over."
I know he means it. I can feel the weight of his promise lingering in the air between us as Peter gathers his things, preparing to head out.
"Sleep well, team," Peter says, patting me on the shoulder. "We’ll reconvene tomorrow."
I nod, exhausted, my body heavy with the need for sleep. As they both leave, I drag myself back to my cabana, my mind racing with the day’s events. It isn’t easy, agreeing to wait, agreeing to slow down when every part of me is screaming to push forward. But I need to trust them. I need to trust myself.
The soft click of my door closing behind me is a small comfort. Home, or the closest approximation to it. I can finally let myself breathe. I kick off my shoes and step into the small sitting area, ready to collapse into bed when I freeze, my heart lurching in my chest.
Dr. Lily St. Cloud is sitting calmly on my couch, her legs crossed, a cold smile on her face.
"Have something you need to tell me?" she says, her voice like velvet laced with steel.
Before I can say a word, she tosses a packet of papers at my feet. The sharp rustle of paper hitting the floor echoes in the small room, and I glance down. My heart stops cold in my chest.
It’s my genetic code.
I swallow hard, dread pooling in my stomach as I look up at Lily. Her eyes are sharp, dangerous, and I know she’s been waiting for this.
She leans forward, her smile widening just enough to send a chill down my spine. "Care to explain, Phoebe?"
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