Robi’s charcoal feet skidded across the wet deck as the little research skiff bucked over a bright blue wave. Salt spray dotted his navy screen face. Ahead, Seaborne Shelf rose from the sea in terraces of white buildings, wind turbines, and old stone breakwaters.

A line of Tideweave buoys bobbed beyond the harbor mouth. Their glassy green tops should have glowed like a string of floating stars. Instead, every single one remained ominously dark.

“Emergency arrival estimate: ninety seconds,” Robi announced.

Carmen grinned from the rail, one hand gripping her tool pouch. “Then it's a good thing this boat is faster than it looks.” Her copper curls had escaped their yellow elastic and snapped wildly in the coastal wind.

Professor Geneva Vale stood steady beside the mast, her indigo coat flapping around her boots. The silver curl across her forehead shone in the sun. “Fast is useful,” she said. “So is noticing exactly where we are going.”

Robi’s chest circuit glowed as he scanned the water. It was warmer than the sea around Verdant Reach by nearly four degrees. A pale ribbon of unusual foam curled around the nearest buoy, and tiny red sea plants clung to its anchor chain. Three clues, Robi stored at once: Warm water. Strange foam. Dark buoys.

At the dock, a woman in a weatherproof orange jacket raised both arms. “Cut your engine!”

Carmen throttled down. The skiff bumped gently against the pier.

“I’m Leona, harbor coordinator,” the woman said. Her voice was firm enough to be heard over the shrieking gulls and howling wind. “And nobody touches the Tideweave without the harbor council’s permission.”

Robi stepped from the skiff onto the dock. “I am Robi. The network sent a delayed distress signal. Immediate restart is the optimal response.”

Leona’s expression did not soften. “An off-site system once called dredging our shallows ‘optimal.’