The valves are prettier than procedures. That is the trap.

You put a hand on the yellow because yellow looks like “caution,” and caution feels like wisdom. It is a sea-side isolation valve for a test loop Reed uses when Gannet is kind. Reed is not here this second. The collar sticker says ASK OUT LOUD.

A pressure light that should be sleepy wakes up. Somewhere a pipe ticks, like a fingernail on a desk.

You can still let go. You can still be the person who called for help before the ocean wrote the ending. Or you can keep going, because stopping feels like admitting you wanted a game.

The moon pool’s silver does not move. That is not comfort. That is mass.

TIDE: “Uncommanded valve motion. Recommend stop.” TIDE does not raise its voice. It never does. The tick happens again, closer to the lock.

Your training badge pokes your collarbone. JUNIOR is not an insult. It is a reminder that the sea has seniority.