Isla

  Finn had barely been asleep for five minutes, and I was already spiraling.

  I sat on the edge of the chair across the room, my knee bouncing, my hands gripping the fabric of my sleeves like they could ground me. The snakes were restless too, their agitation seeping into me, or maybe mine was seeping into them. They kept swaying toward him, trying to get closer. Either way, none of us were handling it well.

  Because I saw it. I saw the moment Poseidon saw him.

  The way Finn’s body jerked like a puppet on strings, the way his hands tightened in the water, his breath coming fast and sharp. I wasn’t even the one caught in that moment, but I knew the feeling. The cold press of his attention, the way it settled over you like the deep, heavy pull of the tide.

  Finn was clearly drained after the encounter, but how much of that was from his vision and how much was from Poseidon himself, I’m not sure. And now he was lying there, jaw slack, breathing slow but steady, like he wasn’t the least bit concerned that a god just looked straight through him.

  I dragged my hands through my hair, pressing my palms into my skull. You knew he’d see him, a bitter voice inside me whispered. You’ve always known how this works.

  I’d spent years avoiding deep water. Oceans, lakes, even bathtubs filled too high. I never let the water rise over my face, never let myself linger in the pull of it. Because I knew.

  Poseidon was always watching.

  The worst part was that water wasn’t just his—it was mine too. It had always been a part of me, as much as the snakes, as much as the strange, fractured magic humming beneath my skin. I’d just refused it. Rejected it. Let it rust and wither like an unused limb.

  And Finn had walked straight into it without hesitation.

  My chest ached. I curled my fingers into fists, willing the tension away.

  Jonas, who had been quiet for longer than I thought him capable of, finally spoke from the doorway. “So,” he said, far too casually. “How do you keep yourself from Poseidon when you’re in water?”

  I glanced up, startled. His eyes were sharp, assessing, the usual humor dimmed just enough that I knew he wasn’t just making conversation.

  “I—” I faltered, my throat dry.

  Jonas raised an eyebrow. “You knew he’d see Finn,” he said, stepping further into the room. “Because it’s happened to you before.”

  I swallowed. Looked away.

  He hummed, tilting his head. “So how do you avoid it?”

  My jaw tightened. “I don’t go in,” I said simply.

  Jonas clicked his tongue. “So you just…hide?”

  I shot him a glare, but he didn’t look remotely intimidated. If anything, he looked pleased.

  “Interesting,” he mused. “And here I thought Medusa would be a little less afraid of her own reflection.”

  My stomach twisted. “You don’t know what you’re talking about.”

  Jonas grinned, sharp and knowing. “I know enough. Enough to see that you’ve been cutting yourself off. And if you think that’s keeping you safe, then I’m sorry, snake girl, but you’re dead wrong.”

  I clenched my fists tighter. I knew that. I’d known it for a long time. But knowing something and accepting it were two very different things.

  Jonas leaned against the wall, arms crossed. “Maybe it’s time you stopped pretending you don’t have power.”

  I swallowed hard, my pulse thrumming against my ribs. Because as much as I wanted to deny it, I knew—Jonas wasn’t wrong.

  Finn had walked into that water connection without fear.

  And I had spent my whole life running from it.

  I let out a slow breath, pressing my knuckles into my temples. My head ached, my nerves felt like live wires, and Finn—stupid, reckless Finn—was sleeping like the world hadn’t just shifted beneath us.

  I felt Jonas watching me.

  “You want to keep staring at me, or do you have something useful to say?” I muttered, not looking up.

  Jonas let out a low chuckle, pushing off the wall. “Oh, I always have something to say, snake girl. Whether it’s useful? That’s subjective.”

  I exhaled sharply through my nose. “Wonderful.”

  “Come on,” he said, tilting his head toward the door. “No use hovering over Sleeping Beauty. Let him rest.”

  I hesitated, glancing toward Finn one last time. His face was slack, the tension from earlier smoothed out in sleep. He looked…young like this. Less like the man who’d dragged me through alleys and defied a god, and more like—

  I swallowed hard and stood, pushing the thought away. Jonas led me down the hall to what could generously be called a sitting room. It was cluttered but lived-in, mismatched furniture crowded between overstuffed bookshelves and piles of things that looked half-magic, half-junk. He collapsed onto a worn-out armchair, stretching out like he owned the place—which, I supposed, he did.

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  I stayed standing.

  Jonas arched a brow. “You gonna loom the whole time, or are you actually capable of sitting like a normal person?”

  I didn’t dignify that with a response.

  His smirk widened, but the amusement didn’t quite reach his eyes. He tapped his fingers against the armrest, watching me carefully. “So. You gonna admit it yet?”

  I frowned. “Admit what?”

  “That you’re scared.”

  I folded my arms, leaning against the nearest bookshelf. “Of course I’m scared,” I snapped. “A literal god is hunting me. Forgive me if I don’t have time to be fearless.”

  Jonas waved a hand. “Not what I meant.”

  I stared at him, waiting.

  He tilted his head, eyes flicking toward the hallway where Finn was sleeping. “You’re not just scared of Poseidon,” he said casually. “You’re scared of yourself.”

  My stomach twisted.

  Jonas smirked like he could see it. “You’re scared of what happens if you actually use what you have. If you stop running. If you start learning.”

  I swallowed the lump in my throat. “That’s ridiculous.”

  “Is it?”

  I clenched my jaw. He was part right, but there was more to it than that.

  Jonas leaned forward, resting his elbows on his knees. The shift made something in his expression turn sharper—less teasing, more serious. “You ever wonder why Finn doesn’t hesitate? Why he doesn’t fight his abilities, even when they hurt him?”

  I blinked, caught off guard.

  Jonas tilted his head, watching me. “It’s not because he’s fearless. It’s because he knows.” His voice was quieter now, but there was something weighty in it. “Knows what he is. Knows what he can do. And he accepts it. Because the alternative? That’s not something he can live with.”

  I swallowed hard, looking away.

  Jonas leaned back, his usual smirk creeping back onto his face. “You could be like that too, you know. If you stopped hiding behind your whole woe is me, I have snakes for hair thing.”

  I shot him a glare. “You really suck at pep talks.”

  Jonas grinned. “I know.”

  A long silence stretched between us. I exhaled slowly, my fingers twitching at my sides. The weight of his words settled heavily on my shoulders.

  Finally, Jonas spoke again, this time softer. “Finn believes in you.”

  I looked at him sharply.

  Jonas shrugged. “You don’t have to believe in yourself yet. But maybe…just don’t make him be the only one who does.”

  My throat tightened.

  We were quiet a moment before he spoke, his sardonic tone back in place with his signature smirk. “So, snake girl, what’ll it be? You want a drink? A lecture? More scathing but insightful critiques of your life choices?”

  I shot him a glare, arms still crossed. “I want you to stop calling me snake girl.”

  “Not gonna happen,” he said easily. “Now sit down before you wear a hole in the floor with all that pacing.”

  I hadn’t even realized I’d started moving. Jaw tight, I sat stiffly in the chair across from him, watching him carefully. Jonas might act like nothing in the world could faze him, but there was something beneath the smirk, something calculating.

  “You’re protective of Finn,” I noted.

  Jonas shrugged. “Someone’s gotta be.”

  I studied him for a moment. “You knew he shouldn’t have done that reading, didn’t you?”

  He lifted a brow. “Would it have stopped him if I said so?”

  I hesitated, then sighed. “No.”

  “Exactly. Finn’s an oracle, but he’s also a stubborn old goat. When he wants answers, he’ll bleed himself dry to get them.” Jonas’ smirk faded, just slightly. “And considering he just let Poseidon make direct eye contact with his soul, I’d say he’s earned a nap.”

  My stomach twisted at the memory. “It was reckless.”

  Jonas nodded. “Very. But he does it anyway. Just like you avoid the water, even though that’s reckless in its own way.”

  I stiffened, but Jonas just tilted his head, watching me like I was some kind of puzzle he was putting together. “You think ignoring a piece of yourself is safer? You think hiding from it makes it disappear?”

  I looked away, irritation prickling at my skin. “I think it keeps me out of Poseidon’s reach.”

  Jonas let out a low hum, like he was considering that. Then, to my surprise, he sat forward, resting his elbows on his knees.

  “Look,” he said, and for the first time, there was no teasing in his tone. Just quiet understanding. “I get it. Power’s messy. It demands things from you. And yeah, maybe if you keep running from it, you can stay in one piece a little longer. But eventually?” His eyes locked onto mine, sharp and knowing. “Eventually, it’s gonna catch up. And then you’re going to wish you’d figured it out on your terms instead of his.”

  The weight of his words settled heavily between us. Jonas’ constant switch between serious and joking was exhausting and confusing. I couldn’t find my footing with him or this conversation.

  I swallowed, my throat dry. “I’ve been at your house for all of twenty minutes. Can’t we just have some quiet time?” I needed to think.

  Jonas leaned back, exhaling through his nose. “Sure, snake girl. Might as well keep sitting on those powers and squandering their potential.”

  There was something in his voice, something distant. A history he wasn’t offering. And I wasn’t about to pry. Silence stretched between us, the only sound the faint crackle of the old house settling around us.

  Jonas rubbed a hand over his face, then suddenly grinned like the last few minutes hadn’t happened. “Alright. Enough of that. Let’s make a deal.”

  His smile and energy back made me narrow my eyes. “I don’t like the sound of that.”

  “You wouldn’t,” he said cheerfully. “But here’s the thing. Finn’s gonna keep throwing himself into stupidly dangerous situations. You and I both know it. And considering you’re already tangled up in this mess, I’d rather you not die horribly.”

  “Wow,” I said flatly. “Such a touching sentiment.”

  “I know, I’m a poet.” He pressed a hand to his chest, then leaned forward. “So here’s the deal. I’ll help you. Show you how to stop treating your own power like a curse and start using it before it uses you.”

  I stiffened. “And what do you get out of it?”

  Jonas’ smirk returned, but there was something quieter beneath it now. “Let’s just say I have a vested interest in keeping you alive.”

  I studied him, searching for the angle, but whatever it was, he wasn’t giving it up. Finally, I let out a slow breath and said, “Fine.”

  Jonas grinned. “Great. First lesson? Don’t flinch.”

  I blinked. “What—?”

  Before I could react, Jonas grabbed a cup of water from a side table and then he tipped the cup, and sent the water flying straight at my face.

  Instinct took over. The snakes lunged, snapping toward the water before it could reach me. But more than that—something inside me uncoiled, as natural as breathing.

  The water stopped. Hung in the air between us. And then, just as quickly, it fell.

  A strange, cold rush swept through me. Not fear. Not power. Something older.

  Jonas let out a low whistle. “Oh, yeah. We’re gonna have fun with this.”

  I stepped back, pulse hammering. The water had felt… familiar. Too familiar. Like I’d held it before. Like it had been waiting.

  I shook my head sharply. “That was nothing.”

  Jonas’s smirk twitched, but his eyes were sharp. Too sharp.

  “If you say so, snake girl.”

  I wiped my damp hands against my sleeves, trying to ignore the strange, lingering sensation in my chest. The water had obeyed me. Not violently. Not reluctantly. Just… naturally.

  Like it had always been waiting.

  Jonas pushed off the chair, stretching like nothing unusual had happened. But I saw the way his gaze lingered on the spilled water on the floor, the way his fingers tapped once against his arm like he was already thinking three steps ahead.

  “Well,” he said lightly. “That answers one question.”

  I frowned. “What question?”

  His grin returned, bright and dangerous.

  “Whether Poseidon should be worried about you too.”