Charlotte leaned against her locker. It had been six months since the full moon at Mako Island, six months since the tingling rush of the ocean's power had vanished from her. She flexed her fıngers. No surge of energy, no pull toward the waves. Just empt҉y air. She hadn't seen the girls since, well... Charlotte lost her mermaidness. It wasn't just the power she missed—it was the thrill of belonging to something bigger than herself. Charlotte slammed her locker harder than intended. Her gaze snagged on Cleo's bright laugh down the corridor, Lewis's easy grin beside her. They moved like sunlight on water, effortless. A familiar ache tightened her throat—not jealously, exactly. More like watching a party through locked glass. She turned away, shoulders rigid. Her reflection in the science lab door showed hollows under her eyes she didn't remember having. Six months. The bell shrilled overhead. Charlotte jumped, then scowled at her own frayed nerves. As the current of students carried her toward history class, Rikki emerged from the stairwell. Charlotte froze mid-step. Rikki didn't glance away. Her sharp green eyes locked onto Charlotte with unnerving intensity. Her usual careless stride hitched, replaced by a deliberate prowl. She cut through the crowd like a shark parting minnows. "Lost?" Rikki's voice was low, edged. "Or just admiring the view?" Charlotte lifted her chin. "Neither. Just heading to class." Her fıngers tightened on her textbook strap. "Funny." Rikki stopped inches away, sharp and mòcking. "You've been avoiding the beach. Avoiding *us*. Still sulking because the ocean spat you out? Or maybe you're just scared someone will see you flailing in the shallows?" Heat flooded Charlotte's cheeks. "I'm not scared." The lıe tasted bitter. She remembered Rikki's volcanic temper – the crackle of electricity in the air before a storm, the way her voice could scorch concrete. "I just don't belong with you girls anymore..." Rikki's laugh was short, harsh. "You never did." She leaned in, her whisper slicing through the hallway din. "You used magic like a cheap trick. A shortcut. You didn't earn it. You didn't respect it." Her knuckles whitened on her bag strap. "And now it's gone? Good riddance." She stepped back, her gaze sweeping Charlotte's face with undisguised contempt. "Enjoy the dry land, Watsford. It suits you." Charlotte watched Rikki stalk away to the others, shoulders rigid. The dismissal stung deeper than she'd admit. It wasn't just anger in Rikki's eyes; it was a fierce, protective fury over what Charlotte had touched and tainted. The hollow ache under Charlotte's ribs pulsed anew, sharpened by the raw honesty of Rikki's scorn. Rikki’s words echoed: *You didn’t earn it.* Was that true? She’d craved the power, yes—coveted the belonging Cleo, Emma, and Rikki shared. But had she ever understood the weight of it? The responsibility? Her reflection in the window showed a girl diminished, the fierce confidence she’d worn like armor now chipped and dull. At lunch, Charlotte spotted them by the fig tree—Cleo’s gentle smile, Emma’s easy laugh, Rikki’s sharp, watchful posture. She hesitated, tray heavy in her hands. Then Rikki’s head snapped up. Rikki leaned against the adjacent rack, arms crossed. "Still pretending you don't miss it?" she asked, voice deceptively soft. Charlotte froze. Rikki’s gaze flickered over her, not contemptuous now, but probing. Charlotte’s knuckles whitened around her tray. "What do you want, Rikki?" Rikki pushed off the rack, closing the distance between them. Her voice dropped, low and lethal. "You think I didn’t see you watching us? Like some stray dog at a barbeque." She circled Charlotte slowly, a predator sizing up wounded prey. "Tell me something—when the magic left, did it take your spine with it? Or were you always this hollow?" Charlotte’s tray rattled. She forced her voice steady. "I’m not playing your games anymore, Rikki." Rikki’s laugh was a crackle of static. "Games? This stopped being a game when you tried to rid Cleo for a power boost." Her eyes narrowed, volcanic. "You think losing your tail wiped the slate clean? That we’d just… forget?" She stepped closer. "You’re still the girl who used magic against my friends." Her knucklєѕ brushed Charlotte’s arm—a deliberate, threatening graze. "Stay away from us. Or I’ll remind you why storms are terrifying." Charlotte flinched. The cafeteria’s chatter faded into white noise. Rikki’s fury wasn’t just anger; it was molten, protective rage—a force of nature barely leashed. She watched Rikki stride back to the others, Cleo’s concerned glance bouncing between them. Emma touched Rikki’s shoulder, murmuring something. Rikki shrugged her off, jaw tight. Charlotte’s chest tightened. That fury wasn’t just about the past. It felt ràw. Fresh. *Like yesterday*, Charlotte realized. And it's all her fault..