Heavy feels like a promise. Heavy feels like you will stick to the job.

Reed’s face does the thing adult faces do when a kid has chosen a story instead of a number. “Mud here is not mud at home. It’s fine. It’s patient. Thrust into it and you cut a cookie. Cookies do not reverse.”

You can still pump out. You can still be near-neutral and boring. Or you can drive Minnow down-slope “for grip,” because the vent field is uneven and you want to be planted.

The moon pool’s silver wrinkles as the sled’s extra mass pulls. A filter light blinks. Somewhere, Paz waits in a hull that is the right weight on purpose.

TIDE: “Sled displacement indicates negative buoyancy beyond work spec.”

Reed holds the pump switch where you can take it. “Spec is a friend. Grip is a rumor.”