That was the worst part. Everything about the last few days was horrible, but the watersong made it impossible to think or rest. It haunted her dreams, keeping her awake in the night, and made it so she couldn’t even feel comfortable in her own skin.

She wanted to crawl right out of her body, but she couldn’t. She was trapped in it, trapped with that incessant music and those awful girls in this colorless house.

That was the best way to describe the beach house—colorless. Penn had picked it out, choosing the most luxurious property she could find on the ocean. Even Gemma had to admit that it was nice, very high-class and expansive, but it had to be the whitest place she’d ever seen.

The room she stayed in—the one that Penn had informed her would be “her” room—was entirely white. Not eggshell or ivory or off-white but pure, startling white. The walls, the curtains, the bedding. Even the artwork on the walls had a white frame, surrounding some kind of abstract painting in swirling shades of white and gray.

And the rest of the house was more of the same. What little color did manage to seep into the house was always pale gray or the occasional muted blue. It was almost unbearably pristine.

Gemma didn’t know how anyone could live like this, but the home owner wasn’t very helpful by way of answers. Not that Gemma had tried talking to him all that much. Penn and the other sirens had cast their spell on him, turning him into a mindless sycophant, and Gemma didn’t really have any urge to interact with that.

Besides, her mind was preoccupied. Not only did she have that awful watersong gnawing at her constantly, she felt like hell. It was like the worst flu she’d ever had. Her entire body ached, from her bones to her skin. Nausea would sweep over her in awful waves, and it was all she could do to keep from throwing up.

“I take it you didn’t sleep well,” Thea said, seeming to magically appear in the doorway to Gemma’s room. Her red hair hung loose around her face, blowing back in the breeze like she was the star of a music video.

“I slept fine,” Gemma lied. She threw off her blankets, which were drenched in sweat, and climbed out of bed.

Thea snorted. “I can tell.”

Gemma went over to her dresser—also white—and rummaged through the drawers for fresh clothes. She’d taken very few outfits with her when she left home, but Lexi had given her plenty of hand-me-downs.

The only thing she’d taken with her that really meant anything was a picture from home. It was of her, Harper, and their mom, taken shortly before the accident, when their mom still lived at home.