Annoyed, Jorge throws more sand out of his shoes, and puts them on for a third time. It's a struggle about the coast of Australia. Or well, any coast at all. Not to mention the heat.

"Sir," one of his men calls. Without another word, he points at something in the distance.

Jorge follows the finger until his eyes stop at a whirlwind of white cloth. Sometimes, a flash of blonde appears, but then the cloths cover it again.

"What's that?" Another one of his men steps closer. His eyes squint.

"I think it's a kid, sir," one says. "A girl."

Jorge starts walking toward the mess of white cloth. The pace he walks at speeds up by the second. Once he recognizes it indeed is a little girl, he's somewhat running.

Safely arrived, he stares at her. She stares back with big blue eyes, expression unreadable. There's just a slight furrow in her eyebrows.

"Hello, sir," she then says.

He crouches in front of her. "Hey there. How're you?"

"Good, sir. How are you?"

"I'm alright." The man manages a small smile. "How come a young girl like you is all alone on the beach? How old are you?"

"Three, sir," she says. The other question is left unanswered.

"Where are your parents?"

"Dead, sir."

He sighs under his breath. "Oh, just stop calling me that already. How come they're dead?"

"Daddy attacked Mommy. Mommy died. Daddy fell. He died."

"He fell that hard?"

"He fell into our fireplace. It was on. He burned. I tried to help him, but he had too much pain. Too heavy for me, sir. I'm sorry."

"You don't have to apologize to me." Jorge looks at her in pity, yet is surprised she's not crying or anything. "How long ago did that happen?"

"A week, sir."

"Just call me Jorge," he sighs again. "Have you been alone all week?"

"There isn't much of a difference. I barely notice they're gone."

"How come?"

"They were always gone anyways."

He lowers his head. "Oh." And quickly changes the subject. "How come you're this good at talking, hermana? You're only three."

"I don't know, Jorge. What's an hermana? That's not my name."

"What is your name?"

She replies in the same steady tone as the whole time, "Siren, Jorge."

"Like a mermaid?" Jorge asks.

"No. It's not the same. A mermaid is beautiful. A siren is not. Mermaid's aren't always considered dangerous. Sirens are."

"Are you dangerous?"

"I don't think so, sir."

"Hey, Siren, you're really neat and polite, but please do stop calling me sir. And perhaps stop replying in... this creepy way. These short sentences."

"But I'm only three. I don't know many words."

He watches her for a few more seconds, head tilted. "So how were you planning to survive on your own?"

"I don't know."

"How have you survived without food for a week?"

"We have leftovers. Now they're gone."

"How come? Did you eat them all?"

"No. A Crank came and stole everything while I was sleeping. I tried to chase it, but he was too fast. Then the door locked. Me locked outside the house."

"And water?"

"Same as the food, sir."

"Do I look like a sir to you?" He motions at his dirty clothes, close to ripped and unshaved beard.

"You're old."

A laugh escapes, but the girl stays silent. "Okay, you've got a point. Do you trust me?"

"No, sir."

"Will you stop calling me that? Call me Jorge, as I said. But also don't call me Jorge after every single sentence."

"Okay, Jorge."

"What were you planning on doing after you locked yourself out of the house?"

"It was the Crank's fault," she corrects.

"Yeah, whatever— what were you planning on doing?"

"I don't know."

"You know you're going to die after a while."

"Yes, sir."

"Hey, what did I tell you?"

"Not to call you sir."

"Then why did you?"

"Daddy once told me not to listen to old men."

"Yet now your daddy's dead," one of Jorge's men blurts out.

Siren's eyes flash at him, angry, but she doesn't speak a word.

Jorge ignores it. "Do you want to come with me?" His question sends shocked expressions to all his men.

"No, sir."

"Why not? You'll learn to trust me. It's better than dying, isn't it?"

"I don't know you, sir. It's not that weird that I don't want to come."

"Another point you have there. You're a smart girl, Siren."

"Giving me compliments won't help, sir."

"Very smart." He sighs. "What do I do to convince you to come with me?"

"Where to?"

"The US. Do you know where that is?"

"Yes, sir."

He nods. "So, wanna come with?"

"No, sir."

"What do I do to convince you?" He repeats. "I have another girl at home. She's like my daughter. You'll adore her. Here, I've even got a picture." He pulls out a small card.

Siren stares at the small, brown-haired girl in the arms of Jorge, both of them smiling.

"I don't want you to replace my daddy."

"I won't. We can just be friends."

"I don't trust your men either. They look like they're going to hurt me."

"They won't. I promise. I'll make sure of it. I trust the ones that work for me. Yeah? And I'll teach you how to fight, Siren."

At that, her blank expression changes a bit. Just a little. "Daddy owned a gun, but he wouldn't let me touch it. Will you?"

He sighs. "Sure. But not immediately. And we even have stimulations! You can train yourself by typing a certain scenario in."

"I don't know how to read or type yet, sir."

"I'll teach you that, too."

"If I decide to come with you, and your plan is to kill me after all, please don't do it in a painful way."

"I won't," he promises. Almost, a smile breaks out. "But I won't kill you, Siren. I promise that, too."

"And don't hurt me."

"I won't."

"Not mentally, either, sir."

"I won't."

They stare at each other for a long time, as if they're looking for trust, even though one of them is only three.

"I'm almost four, sir," she then announces.

"Oh, really? So that's why I was surprised your language is so good. When will you turn four?"

"Just in an hour, sir."

"So it's your birthday today."

"No, in an hour."

"It's four PM in an hour, hermana. That means your birthday is today."

"No."

"Yes."

"I was born at four PM. It's my birthday at four PM. Not the whole day."

"And who the hell gave you that mindset?"

"I did."