Anya's PoV
Anya kept her eyes on the people transporting her. They hadn't risked letting her out of the tank, and they hadn't risked transporting her over sea either. Her tail brushed against the glass, glowing red markings against coppery scales. The markings were a sign of her Gift, the reason she was in the tank.
Ketterdam was a dangerous place for seafolk. They were likely to be stuck in someone's personal exhibit, like the Menagerie or the White Rose.
She didn't know who was standing in front of her. They were holding a needle, and then there was a boy. "Sing," the man with the needle told her.
"Why should I?" she asked.
"Because I could kill you."
Anya sang. Her gift was the powers of a Siren, and the boy slowly approached her tank, her markings glowing brighter.
The man held up a hand, and Anya stopped.
Then the needle was in her arm, and her mind was foggy. The man told her to sing again, and she did. She sang, and her song reached into the minds of the man, the people who had brought her here, the boy.
Freeze.
Everyone froze.
Put me down. Open the tank. Let me out.
They did as she commanded. Anya grinned, her tail vanishing as she stepped out of the water. The transformation wasn't complete - she still had webbing and patches of scales, and when she ran her tongue over her teeth, she could feel the serrated edges - but the power was flowing through her body, and she felt alive.