The humming ceased. A moment later, the wheelhouse door creaked open and Henrik stepped out onto the deck, mug in hand. “What is it?” “Something’s swimming toward us.” Henrik frowned and took the binoculars. “A seal?”
“Too big.” Through the glass, the shape resolved itself—a low-slung blur cutting the surface of the dark water, limbs moving in strong, deliberate strokes. Henrik let out a low breath. “That’s a polar bear.” “Heading right for us.”