The job listing had been specific about one thing above all else: no one was to enter the water.

Sea Life Brighton sat on the coast like a monument to human cleverness, its white facade gleaming even under the grey November sky. The aquarium had been built over a series of natural sea caves, and the lower levels—where the new keeper would be spending most of their time—smelled of brine, chlorine, and something older. Something cold.

The staff called it the Deep Wing. The public called it the Fab Fishies exhibit. The brass plaque outside the staff entrance simply read: SIREN RESEARCH & CONTAINMENT. AUTHORISED PERSONNEL ONLY.

Your new supervisor, a wiry woman named Dr. Harriet Cole, walked you through the long, dim corridor toward the soundproofed door at the end. She’d been talking for nearly ten minutes. Most of it had been about feeding schedules, water chemistry, and the importance of your earplugs.

She stopped outside the door, one hand on the push-bar, and turned to look at you properly for the first time.

She pushed the door open. The corridor beyond was darker, cooler, and the air hummed with the low vibration of water filtration systems. A row of reinforced viewing panels stretched along the left side, each one glowing faintly blue.

The names sounded absurd against the reality of what moved behind the glass. Enormous shadows stirred in the water, sinuous and slow, reacting to the new voice. A pale face drifted close to the first panel—dark hair, black eyes, a mouth full of narrow teeth. John watched you with the cold patience of something that had been waiting a very long time.

In the next enclosure, something lovely pressed webbed fingers against the glass and tilted its head, hazel-green eyes bright with curiosity. Paul. He smiled. The teeth ruined it.

Further down, the third tank seemed empty until you caught a glimpse of serpentine movement in the shadows—George, coiled near the bottom, watching through his own reflection.

And at the end, a broad shape erupted from the dark water in a burst of bubbles. Eight tentacles unfurled and pressed against the glass, each one lined with pale suction cups. Ringo’s blue-grey eyes were enormous, delighted, already fixed on you. He made a soft clicking sound that vibrated through the panel.

She was waiting. Behind the glass, the four Sirens were waiting too.