Great whites did not linger like this. They didn’t float motionless, watching, as though rooted in place. Predators moved — restless, purposeful. This stillness was wrong. He raised the camera, more as a shield than a tool, and steadied it with trembling hands. The lens brought the shark’s shape into focus, cutting through the haze that blurred distance.
His breath caught. He scanned along its body, following the sweep of its powerful tail. And then he saw it. Something coarse and unnatural pressed against its skin. A rope, thick and taut, coiled around the base of its tail, digging into the flesh.