It learned my name

In an immense, frozen seaa wild realm, the place where it all beganever since the engine stopped running, the orcas have not attacked the hull; instead, they circle it in silence, synchronized like a clock made of flesh.

One of themthe one with the broken finemerges and produces a sound foreign to the sea: it is the voice of my father, who vanished beneath the waves two decades ago, calling out my childhood name.

The others answer with the laughter of my mother, my brother, and those they once loved. There is no blood, there are no teethonly that dance of light and shadow urging me toward the edge.

By the time I realize they mean to remind me who I am not to devour me the water is already up to my chest. The orca watches me with an eye that is not animal, and murmurs: "You need no longer pretend to be alive." Killer whales do not kill out of hunger; they kill out of tenderness.