Nathaniel braced as his living chamber tilted. The whale dived deeper, water pressure pressing harder against his mask. Darkness grew absolute, broken only by faint glimmers of plankton. His chest ached with dread. If the whale held him much longer, the air supply of his tank would dwindle. His fate balanced on intent.
The pod rose suddenly, breaching the surface in coordinated arcs. Spray erupted skyward, dazzling in the sun. On deck, the sight inspired both awe and terror. For a heartbeat, someone claimed they saw Nathaniel’s silhouette behind baleen plates—too brief to prove survival, yet enough to ignite hope among those desperate to believe.