You spend the minutes on the loud thing.

Whether it was a cathedral ping that fogged the water or a bright wall you loved too much, the result is the same shape: Yuna takes the board back, runs the weak sector you skipped, and finds a hull-sized maybe while you are still squinting at glitter.

Paz comes home on someone else’s dock. You are there with towels and ginger and a face that knows the difference between effort and aim. Gannet still cannot crane. It does not have to. The house did the job. You watched a thermocline paint a ghost and called the ghost a person.

Vargas: “Bright is not near. Bent sound is not a liar—you are, if you refuse the profile.”

Yuna peels the paper squid off the mug and then sticks it back, because mascots are for days you try again. “Travel time is a ruler. Power is a shout. Shouts bounce.”

You log it. You will run the grid in your head at dinner. Dinner will taste like a lesson.

THE END

What you learned: sound bends when speed changes with temperature. The brightest echo is not always the nearest object. Polite pings on a map beat one huge shout, and chasing glitter spends the minutes a person needed.