Y/n's badge clicks against the security panel. The lock disengages with a heavy thunk. Beyond the door, the tank room opens up like a cathedral built for something that should never have been contained.

The glass wall rises three stories, curved and seamless. Within it, the water is a deep, murky blue—lit from above by filtered light meant to mimic a sun that never reaches this deep. At first, there's no movement. Just stillness. Just the soft hum of filtration systems.

Then a shape moves in the dark.

He drifts into the light like something born of the deep—unhurried, fluid, weightless. Black hair fans around a pale, angular face. Violet eyes catch the glow, unblinking. The tail shifts behind him, gold scales catching the light like scattered coins before he comes to a stop.

He presses one hand against the glass. Palm flat. Fingers splayed.