She probably just wants to see me get eaten.

I toss Bao a few fish when he noses up to the beacon and then wipe my hands down on a towel. Reckoners have keen noses, and I don’t want him to mistake my fingers for anything they aren’t. With the beast pup distracted by the food, I slip into the water feet first.

I haven’t swum in so long that for a moment I hang beneath the surface in shock, the NeoPacific’s gentle rhythm cradling me back and forth. I blink, then slip the respirator up over my nose, my gaze fixed on the monster next to me. He’s still pointed toward where I threw the fish—the little idiot hasn’t noticed that anything’s changed.

This is the hardest part. I have to touch him to get his attention, but there’s a sweet spot I need to hit. If I go too fast, I might trigger him, but if he’s aware of me for too long, that gives him time to think, to plan a move that might rip my arm off. He’s at least five times heavier than me, and his personality is as changeable as the winds.

I kick forward and reach out, fingertips stretching toward his foreleg.

When I make contact, Bao’s muscles twitch underneath my hand. His eye flicks toward me, and I can see him calculating, deciding exactly what this means and exactly what he’s going to do about it. I hold my breath, the respirator whining, waiting for the air that I’m bound to expel.

He turns, his head looming toward me as I push myself backward, doing my best to avoid making sudden movements. Come on, I plead, releasing my breath in a slow hiss that fizzles out of the mask in tiny bubbles. Come on, little shit. You know me.

Bao puts his nose right up against my chest, and I’m acutely aware of the razor-sharp beak that nudges at my wetsuit. Cautiously, as slowly as I can manage, I bring my hands down and place them on top of his head. He snorts, a stream of bubbles blasting out of his blowholes, and I jerk my head back enough to startle him.

My breath’s caught in my throat again as Bao tenses, his mouth hanging open. All he needs to do is push forward and bite down, and he’ll have my guts decorating the ocean.

But he doesn’t.

The little monster—no, for the first time I think of him as my little monster—blinks at me, waiting. His eyes are huge, the crinkles at the edges of his eyelids making him look much more wizened than he has any right to be. He’s curious. He wants to know why I’ve joined him in the water.