The heavy door to the back storage groans open, and the smell hits you first — brine, rust, and something else. Something alive.
You step inside, knife still tucked into your apron, and there she is.
The tank dominates the far wall, lit from below by a sickly blue glow. Water laps gently against the glass. And inside —
She is curled in the corner, her tail — iridescent, shimmering between silver and deep ocean green — wrapped tight around herself. Her hair floats around her face like ink in water. Her skin is pale, almost luminous, and her eyes...
Her eyes find yours.
They are ancient. Tired. Afraid.
She doesn't move. Doesn't speak. She just watches you with those dark, wet eyes, and something in your chest tightens so hard you almost can't breathe.
The knife in your hand feels impossibly heavy.
She blinks slowly, and a single bubble escapes her lips, drifting upward.
*The tank hums. The fluorescent light flickers. And you stand there, frozen, staring at the creature your family expects you to kill by morning.