Tidebound Heart

I saw a post while scrolling through my social media.

[Adult male merman for sale. Hard to tame. Letting go for cheap.]

I commented, [I'll take him.]

The seller asked for ten thousand dollars and promised doorstep delivery.

When I opened the package, the merman was nowhere near 160 pounds. He barely weighed over a hundred. His skin was sallow, his ribs visible beneath it, and his tail fin was rotting at the edges.

I messaged the seller, [I want a refund.]

The message failed to go through.

I was furious. I immediately called the seller, ready to tear them apart.

However, a cold, automated voice answered instead.

"The number you have dialed does not exist."

A deal like that was never meant to be clean. Black market transactions didn't come with customer service. I swallowed my anger and accepted the loss.

I reopened the promotional video on my phone.

The merman in the video was soaking in a clear, sparkling pool. His face was perfectly shaped and sharp, and his deep eyes seemed to pull you in. Water ran down his strong abs, catching the light.

His lips were pressed together, his expression cold and distant. He looked unreal, like a beautiful man who had stepped out of a movie.

Just looking at him felt worth the money.

Then I glanced at the one lying in my apartment.

He was painfully thin, skin stretched over bone. His spine jutted out so sharply it looked like it might tear through his skin. His scales were dull gray, without a hint of shine. A chunk of his tail fin had been brutally cut off. A fist-sized wound split open across his blue-purple tail, flesh exposed.

It was a horrifying sight.

He lay sprawled on the floor, too weak to even lift his head. His skin was dry, nothing like the wet, luminous creature from the video.

I let out a long sigh. My luck was truly terrible.

I spent ten thousand dollars and ended up with damaged goods.

I didn't want to think about it anymore. I dragged him into the bathroom and turned on the shower, letting the water spray over his face. Water was life to their kind. After a while, he seemed to regain a little strength. His head tilted slightly, and he glanced at me.

That single look still made me pause.

His eyes were lake blue, bright like fallen stars. His features were perfectly shaped, like a sculpture. Even this thin, he was undeniably handsome. If he gained some weight, he would probably be breathtaking.

Unfortunately, his expression was dark and guarded. His black hair hung messily over his forehead, making his pale skin look even more fragile. There was a dangerous, almost sickly edge to him.

I tipped my head back slightly. "What's your name?"

"Malcolm Sawyer," he said hoarsely. After a brief pause, he added, "That woman... used to call me that."

I remembered the words written under the video, White Moonlight.

"Who's White