Slowly, I woke up to the light of the morning. Its delicate beams filtered through the window, warming the dim infirmary with its soft golden glow. The scent of food prompted me to lift my head and shake off the last traces of sleep. It drifted through the air, teasing my whiskers and coaxing a twitch from my muzzle.

A steward had brought in breakfast—kelp soup, roe, and hardtack, that unforgivingly hard and dry cracker I often joked was more like a sheet of iron than anything edible. The meal was meant only for Sam, who remained asleep, but this time he appeared calmer. Alan, on the other hand, was slumped uncomfortably in the chair, head tilted to the side, having drifted off as soon as Sam had fallen asleep in the middle of her story.

As the nurse checked the boy's pulse and temperature, I inched closer to the bed tray, irresistibly drawn by the smell wafting from it.

“Not for you,” she chided, gently swatting me away. I quickly leapt from the bed onto Alan's lap, startling her awake with the sudden movement.

“What time is it?” Alan asked.

“Just a little past eight,” the nurse replied. “The mess hall is already serving breakfast.”

Alan rose to her feet, prompting me to leap to the floor as she moved toward the door. She took one last glance at Sam before heading down the hall toward the stairs leading to the level below, where the mess hall was located. I followed closely at her heels, feeling famished, my mouth watering at the thought of burying my face in a bowl of roe. And maybe—just maybe—if Gunther was feeling generous, I'd get a little nibble of a prawn.

The mess hall was bustling with activity, noisy with chatter, and nearly every seat was occupied. Those on a morning work shift hurried in, wolfed down their food, and departed as quickly as they came, to catch the boat to Floating City. Others lingered after their meal, drawn into gossip, the latest topic being Sarah and the children. The news had spread faster than fire on oil-slicked waters.

Alan lined up at the service line, ladled a bowl of kelp soup, and added some fish cakes and a scoop of mush to her tray. After a quick scan of the crowded room, she found a secluded table tucked away in the far corner, where only one other person was seated. I padded quietly over and took my usual place by her feet, gazing upward with quiet expectancy, awaiting the moment when she might tear a piece of the fish cake and toss it down to me.

Alan noticed, of course. She always did. She glanced at me out of the corner of her eye, a small smile playing on her lips. Gently, she tore off a piece of cake and extended her hand toward me, offering the morsel to me in her open palm–unlike the others, who would simply toss it on the floor for me to fetch.

I snatched the piece in one quick motion, savoring its warmth and flavor, though it was gone too quickly. I glanced up, hopeful for another. Her smile softened into something almost apologetic.

“Sorry, buddy,” she said, her voice carrying a warmth that eased the sting of her words. “But I'm hungry too. There wasn’t much left at the line; we got here a bit too late for breakfast.” I sighed, feeling my ears droop as she leaned down to give me a quick scratch behind them, offering another soft apology.

She paused, giving me a reassuring look before adding, “But I promise I'll bring you something nice from the city when I get back."

You're going without me? I meowed, surprised, placing a paw on her leg. I never imagined she’d go off to the city and leave me behind. She usually took me with her whenever she could. I knew she liked having me around—not just to keep an eye out for her, but also as a trusted friend, someone with whom she could share whatever thoughts crossed her mind. I was the only one who truly listened. I thought we were partners!

"I won’t be gone long; it’s just a quick day trip," she replied. Then, lowering her voice so as not to be overheard by the person sitting with her or those at the nearby tables, she added, "I need to visit the apothecary and find out who sold the poison."

Then you need me! I protested. You can't go without me. I was the one who found the vial. I was the one who had sensed that Sam was still alive.

I paused and took a deep breath before continuing my little spiel– Or else, he would've been wrapped up and prepared to be thrown into the sea, just as Dr. Willis is doing now with Joe and Anne.

“You’re incredibly chatty today,” she remarked with a soft smile. “Would you like to come along with me to Floating City?”

What a question! Indeed, I would be most delighted to accompany you.

“Alright, I'll take you with me. But remember we'll be on duty, so we've got work to do there. No wandering off.”

Alan reached down once more, her fingers gliding to the familiar spot just behind my left ear. She knew exactly how to find that perfect spot and scratched in just the right way, sending a ripple of bliss through me. But I was still a bit hungry. I wandered through the mess hall, moving from table to table, occasionally pausing to gaze up at a diner, hoping they might offer me a small piece of fish or shrimp.

Some diners were generous, offering me scraps of fish or shrimp. Others were less accommodating, barely glancing at me before grunting and shooing me away with a dismissive wave of their hand or a nudge of their foot. But it was the kids who truly tested my patience. They teased me mercilessly, holding a tantalizing fish cake just inches from my nose, only to pull it back at the last second.

Before I could even react, one of them scooped me up into an awkward hug, my hind legs flailing in the air as I dangled helplessly, the coveted fish cake still frustratingly out of reach. I squirmed and wiggled, but their grip was firm, their laughter ringing in my ears as I stared longingly at the treat that seemed miles away. The adults around them were deeply engrossed in their own conversation, oblivious to everything else.

“The poor Kelping children,” one said.

“I heard one survived.”

“Who?”

“The little one–Sam.”

“Sadly, they are not the first family to be claimed by the sea. This life… it’s not for everyone.”

“Truth be told– it's not for anyone.”

A murmur of agreement rippled through the group before they lapsed into silence. Their eyes grew distant, gazing into the void as their thoughts drifted far beyond the horizon.