The cut ran deep, revealing tissue beneath Adelaide never wanted to see again. She hissed in pain as Seymour cleaned the wound. He glanced up, but didn't stop, letting the alcohol burn as he poured it over her shoulder.

"You're doing that on purpose," she growled, her muscles tensing as he dabbed the liquid away with a clean cloth.

"Maybe." His smirk wasn't comforting, and she fought the urge to jerk away. After a moment, he spoke again, his voice soft. "I wasn't lying."

"I know." Adelaide didn't meet his gaze, biting down on her tongue to keep the tears shining in her eyes from spilling out. "I should have believed you."

"I've only ever tried to protect you, Addy." He positioned her in the chair so they were face to face, prepping the needle and thread for sewing her back up. 60/40 shot at infection, he'd said.

"I have to go back."

Adelaide's assertion stopped Seymour mid-stitch. He stared at her, his rugged skin paling.

Blinking back to his usual scowl, he shook his head. "You can't go back." He stuck the needle into her shoulder. Biting back a cry, Adelaide suffered through the stitches, waiting until he'd finished to dare speak again.

"I'm not going to let Ro's death be the end of it. I'm not letting Pheron win." She leaned away from him, lest he get any ideas she needed more done to her shoulder.

"Adelaide." Seymour pinched the bridge of his nose, letting out a deep sigh that moved his whole body. "You can't do it. You can't stop him. It's the end, and that's that." He looked away, his jaw clenched. "You'll survive. You don't need to worry about the rest of us."

"There could still be millions of humans on this earth. I'm not going to watch you or anyone else die while I have the power to stop it."

"A power you don't even know how to use."

"It doesn't matter. I'll figure it out." Adelaide looked away from him, knowing he'd see the lie if she met his gaze.

"He'll kill you if you go. You realize that, don't you?"

"And if I don't go, millions die."

"Millions might die even if you do."

"Might." She poked his chest with her finger. "There's a chance for them – for you. I won't waste it."

"But—"

"No, Sey. For the last six years I've followed your rules, listened, been a good little girl. It's kept me alive, yes, but it hasn't allowed me to live. I know you don't think it's possible, but I can feel it, deep inside." She beat her fist against her chest. Tears tightened her throat. "For once, I need to listen to myself and trust myself. I know that I can do this. Please, believe in me the way I've always believed in you. Let me try and save you for once."

Seymour didn't meet her gaze, but she could see his eyes shining as he stared at the table. With a grunt, he cleared his throat.

"And what happens if we survive, but you don't? What am I supposed to do without you?"

Adelaide forced herself to her feet, staring down at him. Cupping his chin in her hand, she forced him to look up at her.

"You live, Seymour. For both of us." At the pained horror in his eyes, she broke a small smile for levity. "I'm coming back. Trust me."

Seymour turned away. "Trust you." He shook his head. "That's the last thing my father ever said to me."

"Your father?"

"He said, 'we'll be back by first light. Follow the rules. Trust me.' He said it all the time."

"And you did, didn't you?"

"I trusted his rules. Four of them to live by. To break them meant to die." Seymour's shoulders slumped as he gripped the back of the chair Adelaide had just been sitting in. "He never broke them."

"But he still died." Adelaide stepped closer, placing a hand on his shoulder.

"He and my sister left for a night raid. I never saw them again."

"Why weren't you with them?"

"I stayed behind to care for my mother. She was dying. We all knew it. Some of the canned food we'd found had been contaminated. Several in the village died by the poison."

"Village?" Adelaide pulled her hand away. "What village?"

"Scroungers live in villages. It's how they stay safe. Community. Together."

Adelaide thought back to the one time she remembered being around multiple people, when she first joined Seymour. He'd made her wear a mask and wouldn't let her talk to anyone.

"You had to leave there because of me."

Seymour shrugged. "It's not like I had anything left. My mother died in the night, and then my father never returned."

"Seymour—"

"Alone. The villagers would have taken care of me, but I didn't want to stay. I wanted to join my family—to die."

"Why are you telling me this?" Adelaide asked. "Why now?"

He turned sorrowful brown eyes to her. "Because you deserve to know." When she said nothing, he continued. "I didn't want to die like my mother, drawn out and painful. I didn't want to die like my father and sister—food for the UnKept. But I didn't want to live anymore.

"I couldn't take my own life. Call me a coward, but I couldn't do it. So I did the only thing I knew would guarantee I wouldn't survive."

Adelaide's mouth popped open, understanding filling her. "You broke the rules."

"Rule #1: Only go out at night." Seymour stared off at the wall, his mind in the past. "I went out in broad daylight. Rule #2: Don't go near the water. I had a pair of wire cutters. I made that slit in the fence."

"And the third rule?" Adelaide's stomach did a little flip. "You always told me the third rule didn't matter anymore, that it 'went out the window' two weeks before you found me."

"I lied." Seymour crossed the room, dropping down on to his mat, his back to the wall. "I went down to the beach hoping the ocean would swallow me whole. I'd seen something dark in the water when I was a small child. I knew I could find a quick death. But that's not what I found."

Adelaide inched closer, dropping down on her knees beside him to listen. Hair stood up on her arms, and a strange familiarity filled her at his words.

"There was a young woman there. She had her knees pulled into her chest, her face ducked down. I could tell she was crying. Long, silvery hair covered her face, and I stepped closer—more out of curiosity than chivalry. 'Are you all right?' I asked, and she looked up at me. I almost had a heart attack."

"Why? What was wrong?" Adelaide placed her hands on the top of her thighs, desperate to hear more.

"She was one of them." Seymour wasn't looking at her. "And in that moment I knew I'd done it. I broke rules three and four just like that." He snapped his fingers. "Rule #3: Don't talk to mermaids. Rule #4: Mind your own business."

Adelaide let out a shaky breath. "Then you knew—all along you knew about my kind."

"Not about the UnKept. Just the ocean Mer. We've always known what swam in the deep."

"Why didn't I?" Adelaide asked, feeling foolish.

"I couldn't risk you finding out—not if it meant death."

"And the woman did she try to eat you?"

Seymour grinned. "No. She asked for my help. She told me there were others of her kind trying to force her to do something she didn't want to do. I sat with her, and she told me all about herself—how she was a combination of two clans of Mer, and how they refused to teach her the ways of either people, for fear she'd grow to powerful.

"When the sun set, she said she had to return, that they'd know if she was missing. I asked her how I could help her, and she told me to come back the next day."

"And you did." Adelaide fought the sensation of déjà vu, trying to pull real memories from her past.

"I did." Seymour nodded. "I came back every day for nearly two weeks. I sat with her, listened to her. I told her about my life and my family. She would talk about running away, never returning to the water. We'd dream of living a life in the places I'd heard about—Montana or Alaska, where people had enough food and shelter. True paradise. She used to joke about being from California, since she lived near the sunken land."

"Did you love her?" Adelaide asked in a whisper, staring down at her hands.

"She asked me that, too. 'Do you love me? If you love me, do this for me.'"

"What'd she want you to do?"

"There was something she'd learned—a way to take all of her memories away. She wanted to start over, to be human. To never go near the ocean again. She wanted me to help her, to tell her she was human, to give her a new life where we could be together."

Adelaide's eyes narrowed. "But you didn't do that. You didn't want to be together?"

"I didn't have a choice." Seymour swallowed, his Adam's apple bobbing. "I helped her cut her hair—she said it'd be best if she never had to ask questions about her looks. I helped her through the process, helped her erase her memories. She lost consciousness, and I was supposed to take her back to my village, and when she woke, I was going to 'remind' her who she was."

"Something happened, though. Didn't it? Something with Pheron."

"He arrived on the beach as the sun set. He found me with her—accused me of attacking her. I told him the truth, what she'd done, and that she wanted to be free."

"I suppose he didn't like that."

"No. But he spared me. He told me to take her away, that it would be better for her to follow the plan that far. He wanted me to keep her safe, to keep her away from the ocean until she could return."

"And if she didn't want to?" Adelaide asked.

"I asked the same thing. He said she didn't have a choice—she had a destiny. He said it would take time, that he had to prepare or something, I don't really remember. But he said if I touched her, if I or any other human defiled her in any way, he'd come and kill not only me, but her as well. And he promised her death would be far more painful than mine. First, she'd watch him kill me, and then she would suffer for days before he finally ended her life."

"So you told her she was twelve and treated her like a little girl," Adelaide said, unwilling to fully embrace it yet, to accept his words.

"I told her she was twelve. I kept her at arm's length. I kept her safe."

"And Pheron?"

"Pheron demanded I return each month and account for her safety. He didn't ask me to bring Ro to him the other night."

"No?"

"No. He said it was time to bring you back. To hand you over." Seymour glanced her way. "And you came tumbling in, a willing sacrifice."

"And everything with Ro?" Adelaide closed her eyes. "Just toying with me."

"I tried to tell you."

"If you had just told me the truth from the beginning—"

"And risked your death by torture? No." Seymour shook his head, jaw set. "Everything I've done is to keep you safe."

Adelaide twisted, shifting to sit beside him, and rested her head on his shoulder. He tensed, but she didn't move away.

"Now it's my turn." She turned to look up at him. "I won't let him hurt you."

When he didn't respond, Adelaide inched into his lap, reaching around to drape his arm around her as she rested against his chest. For several long moments they sat, her listening to the thrumming of his heart, beating almost as fast as her own.

She tilted her head, stretching up and pressing her lips against his throat.

He leaned away, frowning down at her. "Adelaide—"

Placing both hands behind his head, she forced him closer, covering his mouth with hers. He stiffened, but a flood of memory hit her. Not places, or real moments, but the feeling of his lips against hers.

She knew how to do this. She knew what it meant to kiss him. How could she have forgotten? Moving her lips, she kissed him in the way she knew he liked, and the softest groan let her know she'd won.

His arms wrapped around her, and she shifted to face him, straddled on his mat. When he pulled away, she read the conflict on his face. Cupping his face in her hands, she forced him to look at her.

"You can't go," he whispered, his hands tightening on her waist. "I won't let you."

She leaned in, kissing down his jaw line. "Stay with me tonight," she said. "We'll worry about it tomorrow."

(word count 2210)