A single human couldn't possibly have caused this level of chaos alone, especially with the guards stationed here.

If there was a traitor among them, now was the time for them to strike.

The siren couldn't shake the thought. His sharp eyes and thermal sensors told him the human before him was the only lifeform present, but he refused to believe it. Someone else had to be hiding—waiting.

He extended his senses to their fullest, preparing for an ambush. The moment an enemy revealed themselves, he'd strike back with deadly precision.

Yet the human acted as if the imagined enemy didn't exist.

The human sat down leisurely, resting her elbow on her knee and her chin in her hand. Her other hand extended lazily, pointing at the siren's tail.

Her voice was calm, almost dismissive.

"If I were you," she said, "I wouldn't take another step forward."

The siren froze. The human's gaze was unnerving, cold and detached, as though she were staring at something beneath her notice—like trash or an insect.

What did she mean?

Confused, the siren followed the human's finger. When his eyes landed on the ground near his tail, he felt his stomach drop.

A skull.

A cracked, bloodstained skull rested disturbingly close to his tail.

The siren's entire body shuddered. Instinctively, he recoiled, twisting his tail—but the movement caused him to brush against something else.

He turned and froze again.

It was a tail. Or what was left of one.

Bloodied and mangled beyond recognition, it lay in a gruesome heap, torn apart as though by some monstrous predator. The scales were ripped away, chunks of flesh hung in shreds, and jagged bone fragments protruded from its center.

This wasn't just a corpse—it was carnage.

Horror gripped him, tighter than he could withstand.

A monster. This human is a monster!

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The realization shattered his composure. His grip on the trident faltered, and his vision blurred with panic.

"You know," the human began, her voice carrying an unsettling cheerfulness, "your ship's layout is a nightmare. I keep going in circles and somehow ended up back here."

She smiled, a disarming expression that only deepened the siren's unease.

"I'd like to stop by the repair room," she continued. "I'm sure someone like you can tell me where it is."

Fear crawled up the siren's spine. His confidence, his training, even his instincts—all of it crumbled under the weight of that man's voice.

He couldn't fight this human. He couldn't even think of trying.

"Out… out the door to the right," the siren stammered, his words stumbling over themselves. "Take the third corner…"

His heart pounded as he scrambled for a plan. He needed to send the human away—far, far away. Anything to buy himself time to escape.

"I see."

The human's expression didn't change, but there was something sharp in her voice.

"But I just came from that direction. You sure about that?"

The siren's heart sank. He felt sweat break out across his skin. His lie had been caught instantly.

His last shred of defiance evaporated. With a trembling hand, he dropped his trident and threw himself to the floor, his forehead pressed against the cold surface in submission.

"The repair room is out the door to the left!" he blurted, the words tumbling out in desperation. "Go straight, and it's the first room on the right! Please… just spare me! I'm begging you!"

The human didn't answer.

The silence that followed was suffocating.

The siren dared not lift his head. He stayed perfectly still, his senses straining for any sound, any sign of movement. But there was nothing—only the deafening quiet of his own fear.