The artificial waves in Lyra's apartment sounded intensely mechanical that morning, like an air conditioner forced to imitate the rhythm of nature. The girl stared at her reflection in the bathroom mirror, where traces of blue scales had begun appearing on her neck because of the low humidity. The geometric patterns shimmered faintly beneath the white neon light, reminding her who she truly was beneath the synthetic skin she wore every day.
Lyra quickly sprayed polymer solution from the small silver bottle she always carried. The substance stung and made the scales fade into stains that looked like worn tattoos. She scrubbed with a rough towel until her skin turned red, as though she could erase the traces of her own bloodline. Her right hand trembled slightly as she made sure no spot had been missed. One small mistake could mean ruin.
The projector on the vanity flickered on with a pale blue light. Her mother's face, Marina, appeared in a hologram that shook and blurred because of the weak signal.
"Can you hear me, Lyra?" The voice sounded as though it were shouting from the bottom of a well. "This isn't your place. The land is poison, my child. A slow poison."
"I've heard it all, Mom." Lyra didn't turn around. Her eyes remained fixed on the mirror, inspecting the results of the polymer. "A hundred times. A thousand times."
"Then hear it for the thousand and first time." Marina moved her holographic hands, and water seemed to flow around her—the digital backdrop of the true depths of the sea. "Our people weren't made for this dry air. Your lungs will be damaged. Your skin will dry out and split. And when they find out—"
"No one will find out."
Lyra shut off the projector with a swift strike. The room fell silent, leaving only the whir of the malfunctioning humidifier. She stood in the middle of the silence, breathing in air that felt like inhaling sawdust.
Down below, the city was already fully lit. Magnetic rail lines cut between the high-rises, floating billboards hung among the towers, and delivery drones buzzed like swarms of metal insects. In the distance, the sea reflected the light of Aurora City—beautiful through the glass, yet still like a cage to anyone who had ever known the freedom of water.
Lyra arrived at the biotech marketing office exactly three minutes before the workday began. She sat at her desk, turned on the work interface, and let the sounds of the office rush over her: the hum of the air conditioning, sales notifications, and layers of human conversation.
"Lyra." Her supervisor's voice came from behind the partition. "I want the campaign report for that genetic adaptation project before lunch."
"I'll get it done, sir," she replied without looking up.
Her voice sounded strange in her own ears—too high, too fast, a perfect imitation of the land-dweller's human voice she had trained herself to use for years. Her thinly webbed fingers moved faster and faster across the holographic keyboard, creating trails of flickering blue light in the air.
Sarah appeared beside her desk without warning. The girl leaned forward, her right arm resting on the glass partition separating the workstations. The scent of the jasmine-flower perfume she always wore stormed Lyra's senses—too sweet, too sharp, a chemical assault that made Lyra want to dive into salt water.
"Why does your skin always feel so cold, Lyra?" Sarah asked. Her fingers hovered above Lyra's arm, almost touching it, then pulled away for a moment before finally landing hesitantly.
Lyra froze.
Her body temperature was indeed five degrees lower than a normal human's—a biological adaptation that couldn't be erased, only hidden. She had learned to wear thin gloves, avoid direct contact, and always keep an excuse ready. But Sarah tried to touch her too often, watched her too closely.
"The air conditioning here is broken," Lyra said.
"Broken ever since you started working here?"
Sarah smiled, but her eyes didn't. On the surface of Lyra's desk, reflected blue light shifted into thin lines. Sarah watched it for a moment, then whispered, "This morning I saw someone in the underground service route."
Lyra kept staring at the screen.
"A huge man," Sarah continued. "Horns. His skin looked like scorched stone. He was carrying a crate from the old pier."
Lyra's fingers stopped above the keyboard.
"And?"
"Then he stared at the surveillance camera, as if he knew it was watching him." Sarah leaned closer. "Do you know him?"
"No."
The answer came out too quickly. Beneath the desk, Lyra's tail, which she had kept hidden inside a compression sheath, throbbed painfully. She recognized the description. Everyone in the sea colony knew the one name passed around in whispers: Kael, the last minotaur from the southern industrial belt—a creature rumored to work as an illegal hauler, too strong to control and too angry to trust.
Before Sarah could ask anything else, the office's entire glass wall turned red.
A single emergency message appeared in the air:
UNAUTHORIZED BIOLOGICAL ACCESS DETECTED. CLASSIFIED SUBJECT: NONHUMAN. LOCATION: MENARA AURORA, FLOOR 47.
At the same time, the dry air in the office suddenly smelled of salt.
Lyra raised her head. Beyond the glass wall, far below the city, sirens began to wail from the direction of the old pier. And for the first time since leaving the sea, she heard something that could not have come from a machine.
A deep, drawn-out bellow filled with rage.
On the main screen, surveillance footage showed the horned figure looking up toward Menara Aurora.
Kael stared straight into the camera.
Then he raised one hand and gestured for Lyra to be quiet.