The ship lurched to the side as it crashed against rock. Emil emerged from his quarters and ran to the deck. Three hours. Three hours of sleep and his first mate grounded the ship. Emil cursed as he watched his sailors gather at the edge of the ship, each taking a turn to peer through the spyglass. “What’s going on? Where’s Ricard?”

“Women, captain!” one man said. He pointed to the shore of an atoll. “They’re stranded, captain. They need our help.”

Another man handed Emil the spyglass. Three women sat along the rocky shore, staring back at him, their eyes piercing. He felt beckoned. A sudden urge to help washed over him as he stood there, locked within their gaze. He felt light, as if he could simply leap across the hundred-yard gap to meet their calls. Cheers freed him from his trance and he peeked over the bow, following his crew’s gaze. Ricard and four others had launched a dinghy for rescue. A second group prepped another to follow suit.

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Emil rushed to his men, pulled them away from the edge, and cut the line to the dinghy. It crashed against the reef below and split. “Fools! Those are not women. They’re sirens.” But his words fell on deafened ears and the men began to jump overboard. He tried to rally his men, to break them from the enchantment, but he failed. He sat against the ship’s railing and listened. To the song of sirens. And to the screams of men.