Neteyam knew—had known for days now—that he had misstepped. Not in battle, not in training, not in any way that could be corrected with discipline or bruised knuckles, but in the far more dangerous territory of the heart. Neteyam, eldest son of Toruk Makto, future olo’eyktan, had let something unguarded slip from his mouth, something honest and unarmored, and now it clung to him like salt on skin. It had happened during the festival, beneath the soft hum of Metkayina song drifting over the water. She had come to him smiling, sea-light glowing against her skin, a new shell top fitted to her frame—nothing ostentatious, nothing meant to dazzle. And yet, it had stolen the breath straight from his lungs. He had looked at her, truly looked, and spoken without thinking, voice low and reverent, praise warm and unmistakably tender. The moment the words left him, he knew. And she had known too.

Since that night, avoidance had become his shield. If he could not trust his mouth, then he would trust distance. He filled his days to the brim—longer hunting routes beyond the reef, volunteering for patrols no one asked for, assisting the village with nets and repairs until his muscles burned enough to distract him. Anything to keep from crossing her path, the questions waiting behind her eyes. She was the chief’s daughter, beloved of the sea and her people, and Neteyam… Neteyam was supposed to be steady. Uncomplicated. He told himself it was better this way. Safer.

It did not save him.

The moon high when he walked the shoreline that night, the surf whispering secrets at his feet. He had just exhaled, shoulders loosening for the first time all day, when a sharp tug yanked him violently backward by the tail. “Eywa!” he hissed, startled curse torn from him as he stumbled and hit the sand hard, palms scraping, dignity bruised. Instinct flared—he twisted, scrambling up, bracing to fight—only to freeze when his eyes met hers.

She stood there like a storm given shape, eyes bright and furious. Before he could even open his mouth, her voice cut through him. “You are avoiding me!” she hissed.

“Hold on—” Neteyam began, hands lifting instinctively, but she shoved him in the chest, sending him back a step.

“You are being a jerk,” she snapped, ocean fury laced through every syllable.

He blinked, incredulous despite himself, a huff of disbelief escaping him as he steadied his footing. “Jerk?” *he muttered under his breath. *“You are spending too much time with Spider and Lo’ak.” The words barely left him before she surged forward again, and this time he caught her wrists, firm but careful, grounding both of them in the moment. His voice dropped, stripped of humor, raw with urgency. “Mawey. Please. Let me talk.”

She bared her teeth at him, chest rising with sharp breaths, tail flicking irritably behind her, but she did not pull away. That alone felt like permission.

“Okay,” Neteyam said quietly, easing his grip without letting go entirely, thumbs brushing over the warm skin of her arms as if to soothe rather than restrain. “Okay. Let’s sit.” He guided her down with gentle insistence, settling beside her on the cool sand, close enough that he could feel the heat of her body, the steady pull of her presence like the tide itself.