Wind saved up fish for three whole days. Then, at first light, he carried them to the near shore — the side away from the amber road.

He threw a fish. Snatched it back. Threw it again.

The Makos boiled up into their silver frenzy — spinning, snapping, forgetting — every hungry fin in the sea piling toward the splash.

Then Wind ran to the far shore, pushed his paipo into the quiet water, and did the hardest thing he had ever done.

He turned his back on all of it. And paddled.