Morgan sighed as her bag hit the dirt with a muffled thud. The flow of the water, the clap as it crashed into the surface of the pool below, was soothing—though not enough to calm the ebb of annoyance caused by Edward's presence. He hadn't said a word since they left the house, but knowing he existed in this space was more than enough.

Rosalie, however, was another story. She was the second to volunteer to go with Morgan to the waterfall on this research expedition of sorts, following Edward quickly, and it was decided two escorts were enough. Though, neither Rosalie nor Morgan had discussed their argument almost weeks prior. They felt it each in their own ways, but it was an obvious wall of invisible but tangible tension between them as time went on. Morgan could feel it in the way Rosalie kept her distance, moseying toward the river's edge to peer in, her eyes scanning the trees above.

She was trying to keep herself busy. She did it often—although, Morgan couldn't remember a time that it was so obvious to spot. Morgan blew air through her lips and pulled her shoes from her feet. "Do you have a plan?" Edward asked suddenly, breaking the otherwise silent bubble encompassing the three.

"Yeah, I'm going to go swimming," Morgan answered. She placed her shoes atop the bag on the ground, before reaching to tug her hoodie over her head. "Turn around."

Edward's eyes shifted to meet Rosalie's and hers were already aimed in his direction, but she didn't argue with the statement. Instead, she tilted her head in a gesture as she moved to turn her back to Morgan, her thoughts echoing the same words he'd just heard aloud. Turn around. It was foolish to simply jump back into the water without a plan, a designated sign that she needed help, or any safety precautions put in place at all. But he was outnumbered.

So, begrudgingly, he turned in his position to angle his back toward Morgan's place by the water, and refrained from rolling his eyes. Morgan pulled off her hoodie, leaving an old swimsuit top on beneath to cover her top half while in the water, before peeling off the bottom layers and folding them atop her bag to keep them clean in the meantime. It felt utterly exposing to disrobe outside, but there was no way to keep any bottoms on if she wanted to fully transform.

The tail would simply rip the fabric and she would have nothing but a shirt to walk home in, which would, in the long run, be incredibly worse. This was the lesser of two difficult evils. Her bare feet pattered across the damp dirt to the basin quickly in an attempt to get in the water before she regretted this entirely. She needed to cover up for her anxiety's sake, and the only way to do that was to lose her legs. The water felt warm against her skin as it rose steadily toward her knees, before the soil beneath her feet disappeared—and she sunk into the pool up to her shoulders with a gentle plopping sound.

"Everything okay back there?" Rosalie asked, over her shoulder.

Morgan nodded instinctively despite their turned backs, treading water to keep her head above the surface. "I'm okay. It got deep all of the sudden."

"Did you fall in again?"

Her eyes rolled at the sound of Edward's voice. "Just focus on not running away without warning, okay?" she retorted absentmindedly, the words tumbling out without much thought, and Rosalie snickered. It was then that Morgan allowed the scales to break out over her legs like a sudden rash. They engulfed them entirely, replacing her feet with a fluke that glistened even in the darkness of the water, and keeping her head above water was no longer an issue.

It was easy to stay upright. The tail gave her a kind of unique buoyancy while it pushed down against the water with steady strokes, making the act seem all but effortless. Looking down through the somewhat murky surface, Morgan could see the burnt-orange color of the scales as they reflected ambient light, and it felt right. The emotion that surged through her was excitement. As she looked up to relieve the others of their duty respecting privacy, the skin of her neck twinged. Gills.

Though her hand moved to the left side of her neck rather quickly, she was careful in brushing the skin with the pads of her fingers. Sure enough, there were slits there, layers of skin hanging against her neck as they waited for the need to inflate. A small huff of air escaped her, a quiet expression of amazement. She could feel them now, unlike before in the basement pool—what had changed? Was it physical maturity? The salt water? There was no way to tell for sure, but it added to the excitement regardless.

She wondered, however briefly, if this was a part of growing up for people like her. Was the newfound enjoyment of her abilities something she simply grew into? Or, was it truly a choice she made for herself? Either way, she was intrigued by the idea of submerging herself now. In the swimming pool, she could see far more clearly than she ever had on land in her life. What must the bottom of this basin look like?

Finally, she called to Edward and Rosalie on the shore, "Okay, you guys can look now."

Edward wasn't sure what he expected when he turned to face her but, given her reaction to swimming in the past, it was certainly not happiness. There was no nervousness on her features he could see, and her mind was like a blank sheet of black to him—but the way her silvered irises lit up against the sunlight was enough. It was a small kind of euphoria. And something in his still chest felt warm. This—this was how she was meant to look, with her upturned lips and bright eyes, tail effortlessly wading as though the water were air.

No, she wasn't meant to be kept in a house like a pet, eating dead fish and sleeping in a dry bed. That was why her skin dried so easily and she dehydrated so quickly and she couldn't tolerate eating much else. She was meant to be in a place like this, though much, much bigger, and the reality was a sharp pain between the eyes. It was a bittersweet harshness that Rosalie found herself grappling with as well, though she did much better at hiding it than him. She always did.

But she simply couldn't bring herself to let her feelings squash Morgan's self-discovery, her glow, like a bug. It was her stubbornness that kept them at bay as her features colored with pride and the corners of her mouth turned upward. "Natural looks good on you," Rosalie told her, in an attempt at encouragement. "But if you look like you're struggling at any point, I'm pulling you out."

Morgan nodded once before lifting a hand from the water, raising two fingers to her forehead in a mock salute. "Got it, boss."

It was then that she swiveled, turning herself about in the water to face the deeper parts of the pool, and plunged forward. The air was cold against her drenched scales as they breached on her way in head first, the fluke slapping the surface with a hollow clap, and then she was gone. The visage of her through the dark surface of the water faded rather quickly, and it was concerning. If they couldn't see her, how would they know when or if to pull her out?

Though, blissfully unaware, Morgan continued unbothered. The image of the bottom—the sediment with a squishy appearance and cloud-like behavior when disturbed, the few large rocks and half a fallen tree, along with some pale white items amongst the dirt that looked like bone—rippled like a strong tidal ring. Along with it, the image, and in its place was brought a new one entirely. Her surroundings changed rapidly, becoming visible as if a kind of eraser swiped upward on all sides.

It was in favor of something less dark and clouded. Instead, now, the dirt at the bottom was a bed of darkened sand not two feet beneath her and the water was clear even without her bettered vision. It was another dream, a vision of sorts—it had to be. Still, out of curiosity, she reached down to plunge a hand into the sand below. Sure enough, it was as though she were pushing down on a dusty pillow. A small cloud of sand wafted upward but it was not enough to reach her face.

Then, she looked up, straight ahead. The water around her was vast and it appeared empty, though her eyes scanned the space diligently to be safe. There was no telling what she would see this time. She'd hoped for another moment on the beach, but instead she was dropped into the ocean, resting at the bottom of some place not far from the shore. She had to be close, she deduced, or the water would be much deeper. It looked to be only about fifteen or twenty feet at this spot.

In this vision, she could keep swimming into the blue. Her tail pushed her along slowly, timidly, as her heart began to pound in her chest. It was the anticipation that was going to kill her. Waiting for whatever it was she was supposed to see this time to jump out at her. Though, the emptiness around her did not feel quite empty. It was more like walking into an empty gymnasium or dance hall after being in the relatively small space of the hallway. It was an open field.

Morgan found herself moving more freely, without the constraints of the small swimming space of the basin or the basement pool, stretching out in the expanse. The thought of danger still lingered in the back of her mind as she spun in her stride, rolling over like a torpedo toward its target, in a rush of exhilaration—but the anticipated terror never came. An image flashed before her eyes and she slowed in her trek along the ocean floor.

It had gone by so quickly she could barely focus on it enough to take it in. Then, another, this time with a bite of sound. A guttural cry cut short. The volume, the nature of it, startled her with a jolt of adrenaline. She could make out a face, recognizing the pattern of eyes, nose, and mouth. A pale gold that stuck out from the pale blue surrounding it, the dark green splotches in the backdrop. Another image—a little clearer now—with a large, red splotch behind the subject in the shape of a house.

A red house on the water. Instinctively, Morgan shook her head, an attempt to shake away the thought itself, but it remained as she focused on what was left in the image. The pale gold was in wisps—perhaps a strong wind?—and the features appeared more feminine now. Was she looking at herself? How could that be possible? The sound accompanying the image was a blip of the ocean's roar with a voice woven in tightly, so neatly she almost couldn't pick it out. It was feminine as well. It was the same as the previous cry, but familiar.

Was it her own voice? Could it be herself she'd been hearing the whole time? The cry that echoed in her ears, as quick as it was, left bumps on her arms at the similarity to the sound she'd heard on the beach. The realization was like cold liquid traveling slowly through her veins. Her spine felt rigid, a lightness to her head, and she reached out a hand toward the sand in an effort to ground herself.

Her fingers touched the tops of moss and sediment-covered rocks on the bottom of the basin, a blink washing away any trace of the clear and open ocean she'd been swimming in. The drastic difference in expected sensations caused her to jerk back, quickly retracting her hand from the rocks, and she tipped her head backward to look up at the surface. Sunlight. It was confirmation that the illusion had truly ended. She thrust her tail downward as she began swimming for the surface, the fluke fanning the sediment on the bottom. The dirt and moss plumed upward from the disturbance.

It was hard not to feel strangled. Her lungs weren't asking for air, but her throat constricted and her chest burned as if they were begging, and her only thought was an instinctual urge to get air. The water was like a box containing her and claustrophobia plagued her more intensely than it ever had before. When her head finally broke the surface, the volume was set to maximum. The rushing water, rustling leaves, the rocks shifting beside the river. Morgan's features grimaced at the sharp increase.

Still, she continued, swimming toward the shallow edge of the basin. Her sudden surfacing gained their attentions, though it was her expression that worried Edward and Rosalie on dry land. "Everything alright?" Edward asked, from where he perched at the edge of the pool, positioned for the best view of below.

Morgan sniffled against the water in and around her nose as she reached the side, and folded her forearms atop the dirt to keep herself in place. "It happened again."

"What did you see?" Rosalie took steps forward.

"I don't know. It felt like I was in a different place again…but I was still underwater this time," Morgan shook her head, exhaling heavily. "I kept seeing this woman. Hearing her voice. She looked like me, but I don't think she was."

Rosalie's eyes shifted to meet Edward's as he stood to his full height, but he knew her concerns long in advance. This new vision was more than concerning. It was almost terrifying. Though, Edward did his best to subtly convey his intended plan, giving Rosalie a pointed expression before looking down at Morgan. "Why don't Rosalie and I go talk to Carlisle, and you take your time getting dressed in private?"

It was the perfect ruse. Make her believe you're doing her a favor, giving her unlimited privacy—when, truly, he needed to buy time. He needed to speak with Carlisle without Morgan in the house. Rosalie understood the insinuation, despite her distaste for it. Though, it would be best to discuss what to tell her and how to get on the same page before they all come at it from very different angles. The information alone may very well be overwhelming, but getting a different story from every member of the family?

No, this was much better. It was much kinder. "If you're comfortable with that," Rosalie added, offering a sense of choice.

Still in a bit of a daze, the nearby sounds leaving an ache in each ear, all Morgan could do was shrug. "Sure, that's fine," she replied, numbly.

Edward only nodded once before turning on his heels. It felt callous but the situation called for nothing less. Rosalie at least gave a small smile of acknowledgement and told her to come straight home, a send-off fit for a mother, before disappearing behind Edward in a brief rush of wind. It all happened so fast. Morgan felt like the world was genuinely spinning, a slant to the flat ground in front of her now. Carefully, she eased herself upright, relaxing her weight into the wet dirt with her tail relaxing in the shallows.

The volume was beginning to slowly decrease to a normal level. She could tell by the way the pain in her ears eased, how the sound of the water no longer grated on her nerves. Now, it was closer to being the comfort it had been before. Exhaling a deep breath, she allowed her eyes to close. In the darkness behind her eyelids, she searched for the image of the woman, calling forward the visual from the brief memory. The longing in her chest had never completely gone away, but now it was an undeniable urge lurking beneath the skin.

She could feel it pulsing and burning within her rib cage, clawing at her for attention, insatiable in its lust for this thing she couldn't describe. What was it that she wanted so badly? The place or the woman? Why was it so hard to tell? She'd come away from this expedition with far more questions than before, but this felt like a step in the right direction. Another piece to the puzzle is still closer to completing it than none at all. She would simply have to figure out where this one was meant to be placed.

Then, she heard them—voices. Every muscle in her body became rigid—even her tail had gone still in the water—and she listened intently as they echoed from somewhere in the woods. They sounded far away and far too close at the same time. There was no time to think. Morgan reacted quickly, rolling onto her stomach and pushing against the dirt to reenter the basin, before submerging herself completely.

She ducked beneath the water and made small movements to swim toward the wall of rock beneath the waterfall, where the large rocks protruded from the walls, stacked from the bottom of the basin. There, she surfaced, using her hands to pull herself in between them. The rocks' rough edges scratched and burned at her bare skin, and she clenched her jaw. Echoes of the voices were closer now. They were distinctly male, different from those of her brothers.

Adrenaline and anxiety were causing her blood to race, heart beginning to pound in her ears, and hands shook gently where they gripped the rocks. She should've just left the water and ran with her clothes. That would've been smarter. But a part of her thought that the water would be easier to defend if necessary and now it didn't feel quite like her own. She didn't need to fight—she needed to hide. Most likely, they were hikers who trekked a bit too far from one of the local trails. There was nothing dangerous about that.

One of the voices sounded clear, close by. They had to be within at least two yards of the waterfall. It almost sounded familiar in a vague way, the tone and inflection, but it was easy to forget. Easy to ignore. And then the second voice joined the first, and her blood ran cold. Jacob. Sirens and flashing emergency lights blared in the back of her mind and her fingers fought to keep their grip on the rock as her body jolted at the realization. It was an impossible thought. What could he possibly be doing there?

Did he have nowhere else to be right at this moment? Though, it was the weekend, and it would explain why the other voice sounded familiar. Quil, most likely. She fought to hold in a heavy sigh of despair. Carefully, she pulled herself up between the rocks, easing the top of her head over the crest of the rock blocking her view. The rock blurred half her vision, but through the top half she could see them standing at the edge of the river.

Quil snagged what looked to be a map from Jacob's hands and walked in the other direction with it, and Jacob was visibly annoyed, allowing his arms to fall to his sides dramatically in a huff. "You clearly have no idea where we're going," Quil stated. "Is there even supposed to be a waterfall here? It's not on the map."

"Yes, it is—just give it back, man."

"If it's on the map, why can't I see it?"

Morgan's fingers lost their hold and her position shifted, her back scraping hard against the rock behind as she slid quickly down into the water. A muffled yelp from her throat was smothered by the water's surface, and it swallowed her with a vague splattering sound—the sounds both just loud enough to touch their ears. Jacob paused in his attempt to rip the map from Quil's hands, Quil himself pausing briefly as well, before taking a step toward the basin.

"Dude, what was that?" he asked, in bewilderment, as he approached.

Jacob shook his head. "It was probably a rock."

"From where?" Quil scoffed at the outlandish-sounding suggestion. "You'd have to throw one. We're the only people here."

It was then that Jacob's eyes landed on the discarded backpack and folded clothes by the corner of the basin's edge, and he lifted a brow in sarcastic intrigue at Quil. "Or are we?"

Morgan grimaced hard against the harsh burning in the skin of her back as she eased her head above the surface once more. She needed to hear what they were doing, if and when they were leaving, so she could escape as soon as possible. But it was Quil's voice questioning the ownership of the forgotten backpack, and her heart sank. "Do you think they're coming back?" Quil questioned, with rue for the owner, but hope for the possibility.

Jacob shrugged as he came to kneel in front of the pile. Hopefully, he thought, there would be a name tag on the inside of the backpack. A person to return it to in case it was still here on their way back to the car. So, he was careful to set the clothes up on the nearest rock so as not to dirty them with the damp riverbank, and unzipped the main pouch just enough to peer in at the back. There was no official name tag of sorts, only a single name written directly on the inner fabric with a blue marker—Morgan.

"Whose is it?" Quil asked, from the edge of the basin.

It was odd that Morgan would leave these here for who knows how long. Perhaps she was nearby and simply needed to give her back a rest? After all, her house was only a few miles from here. The thought of possibly running into her in the area sent a jolt of adrenaline straight to his chest. "There's no name," Jacob lied, as he zipped the pack closed. He placed the clothes right back where they were, even attempting to smooth them out before turning to face Quil. "Do you have the compass?"

Quil reached for his pocket and froze. Eyes rounding, he reached for his other pocket, only to sigh heavily at the emptiness of both. "Crap. I must've left it in the car."

"Then I think it's only fair that you make the walk back to get it."

Grumbling, Quil glared briefly at Jacob and thrusted the map at him. Jacob had just enough time to grab hold of it before Quil went shuffling off on his way back to the car, at least a mile in the opposite direction. Though, without the compass, it would be difficult to make it to their destination. However, Quil didn't know that the compass was in Jacob's pocket. It weighed a bit heavier there with an ounce of guilt for what he'd done, but he knew Quil would've pulled the same shenanigan in his position, and it somewhat lessened the blow.

Jacob was quick to fold up the map as he began walking, taking a left on the other side of the hilly rocks. Morgan pulled herself up on the rocks enough to peer over once more, mustering up every ounce of strength left in her trembling arms. There was no sight of either of them. Relief flooded her veins. She slipped back down into the water and swam swiftly for the shallows at the edge. Now was her chance to get as far away as possible. Her fingers gripped at the dirt to bring herself close enough to the edge to sit once again.

It behooved her to get as close to her clothes as possible before becoming exposed. That way, it wouldn't take as long to cover up. Though, it was as she leaned across the dirt and outstretched a hand toward her folded clothes that footsteps touched her ears, and her stomach fell into her toes as a figure appeared in her peripheral. Color drained from her face as a second jolt of adrenaline caused her to yank her hand back, startling away instinctively.

She slid in the dirt of the shallow water, back into the basin to her waist, before his voice stopped her. It was about the only thing that could in her panicked scramble for cover. "Whoa, whoa- wait! It's just me," he called, startled nearly as much as he'd startled her. But he was filled with disbelief that swirled a cloud of shock in his mind. "That's…that's a really good costume, Em."

Only then did she force her eyes to move upward from the dirt—and the instantaneous regret was sickening. Jacob's gaze was so hopeful. Of course it was a costume. What else would it be? The naivety would've been endearing in any other situation. Here, now, it was morbid. Her whole body trembled with the thought of the answer being any different than an agreement, but the longer she stayed silent, the faster the cloud in his mind dissipated.

Thoughts entered and exited rapidly, memories flooding in uninvited. Moments in time flashed before his eyes. A skin condition requiring a lot of lotion, drinking way more water than the average teenager could dream of, a fascination with sea life, and a diet composed mostly of fish. Was she simply good at pretending? It had to be some kind of cosplaying hobby she'd never mentioned. It had to—how could he accept anything else? "That's a costume. Right? Tell me…that that's a costume," he pointed vaguely in the tail's direction as he leaned back on his heels absentmindedly.

Leaning away from her. His features had fallen into a flat state of shock, disbelief, and denial. All the trademark and expected emotions. What else was there to feel in a time like this? There was no scenario where telling this truth earned excitement or amazement. Although, she might've earned something more positive from someone like Liz—but this was Jacob. He chuckled nervously when talking about his cultural stories because he thought they'd sound ridiculous, almost as though he didn't quite believe them himself.

How could he think any differently of this? After all, this was ridiculous. Morgan's head shook as her hands absentmindedly worked to push herself backward, sinking an inch deeper into the water, as her eyes remained pinned to the ground. But the movement caused her gills to fluctuate, flexing and retracting like the rest of her skin, and it was then that he finally noticed them. He couldn't help but blink. Perhaps, maybe, he could blink it all away?

He could close his eyes and when he opened them, his world would go right back to being as normal as it was. Still, every time, she was still there. Only partially out of the water, retreating, shaking, her features contorted tightly as though she might cry. And it all clicked into place. The shock of it all was like a bug on the windshield, easily brushed aside by the swell of guilt and empathy in his chest. Now, when he blinked, it wasn't the tail or the gills he was looking at—it was Morgan. Just Morgan.

"Hey, hey, wait, please," Jacob eased forward to close the space, careful as he lowered himself to his knees in the dirt, and reached for her arms "I'm sorry—It's okay. It's okay."

His hands felt like heating pads where they wrapped loosely around her upper arms, causing her to still in her attempt to slither away. Her chest felt so tight it burned as Morgan finally dared to look up. He was roughly eye-level now, only looking at her still-silver irises, and she couldn't quite tell if it was wonder or uncomfortability coloring his features. It was a fine line here, she supposed.

A close proximity to him had never felt so explosive. "My family is expecting me. You can't be here when they come looking for me," Morgan shook her head quickly, and the seriousness of her voice caught him off guard. A part of Jacob was just curious enough to ask, but something in the pit of his stomach warned him against it. He didn't need to know. Just listen.

So, he nodded, though a bit numbly. "Okay. I'll tell Quil we need to go somewhere else. He should be at least another couple minutes out," he was thinking tactically now, the reality of the situation beginning to weigh on him. Even still, his eyes never left hers, no matter how jarring the change in eye color was subconsciously. Instead, his own softened as his thumbs slid gently over her skin in an attempt to comfort her. "Can we talk later?"

Exhaling through her nose to ease the rabid beating in her chest, she quipped meekly, "You still want to talk to me?"

"Are you kidding? Things just got a lot more interesting. I mean, the explanation for this has to be pretty unbelievable, right?"

A slight huff of a chuckle escaped her. Genuine laughter. He had a habit of pulling it out of her even at her lowest points. Without hesitation, Morgan pulled her arms away, freeing them only to drape them around his neck. The sudden action surprised him, but it was more than welcome—it was cherished dearly. He wrapped his arms around her torso in reciprocation and she melted into the warmth, cheek against the fabric of his jacket, and the pads of his fingers grazed the bare skin of her back.

Over her shoulder, the whole of her tail was in view. Though, he bit his tongue, saving away his comments and questions for the inevitable discussion on the topic later. Now was not the time. Still, he couldn't deny how fascinating the idea was. Who wouldn't be intrigued by real life mermaids? "I'm so sorry you found out like this, Jake," she apologized as she pulled away, pressing her palms into the dirt to hold herself up.

But Jacob shook his head, waving away the guilt. "It's okay. We'll talk later, and everything's gonna be okay," he assured her, standing to his full height. "I'll go turn Quil around before he gets too close. Get home safe, okay?"

"Thank you. You, too."

He gave a final nod before turning on his heels, picking up the pace in the other direction, where Quil had gone to retrace his steps to the car. Morgan's eyes followed him through the trees until the trees swallowed him whole. And even then, she moved as quickly as though he were coming back the next minute. Finally, her legs separated into thighs, knees, ankles, and toes, and she could push herself off the moussey dirt of the bank to stand.

Every muscle in her body continued to tremble. Her feet betrayed her, uneasy in each step, and she braced a hand against the rocks to stay upright as she reached down for her clothes. There was a towel and clean shirt in her backpack. Once she dried off enough to make it home, she pulled on her jeans and tugged the fresh shirt over her head, followed by her hoodie to protect against the wind's chill on her damp arms. Every movement was made on a kind of auto-pilot. It was instinct telling her which holes to put her arms and legs through.

Muscle memory guiding her limbs, making sure she put the clothing items on in the right order. Her mind felt like a thick fog. A short-circuiting after adrenaline and fear caused a power surge. There were no thoughts outside of two words—get home. So, she let her body dress at its will before zipping up her bag and pulling the strap onto her shoulder, then she slid her glasses onto her face. It felt like a downgrade every time she put them back on after a swim now. Nothing could compare to the quality of vision those silver irises gave her.

It wasn't even like her vision underwater without them. The clarity was unique. She moved forward slowly, taking her steps one at a time along the river. A few yards down, she crossed it, toward the clearing between the rocky hill and the brush on the other side. Then, she was on her way home. There was no way to truly hide all of her emotions from this. Not from her family. But she could attribute what showed through to her dream-like vision. A cruel trick but a trick necessary nonetheless.

They could not know that the secret was out, and they could not know that Jacob was involved. She promised Billy she would keep him safe—and if a single lie like this was what she had to tell to keep that promise, she would do it over and over again.