She was so close, he could see the individual barnacles lining the right side of her face, how the white pigmentation covered nearly all of her upper jaw but was patchier around the very tip of the snout. And he could smell her skin—brine and oil and fish. He should have been scared, but somehow, he wasn’t.

“Hello, White Beak,” he whispered. “It is you, isn’t it?”

Rio wanted to reach out and touch her nose, but he didn’t dare. There was something precious about the whale that commanded respect, like his mom’s most expensive violin—the one she only used for important concerts—which she kept wrapped up in its case at all times when not in use.

“You’re beautiful,” he murmured, his voice cracking.

From nowhere, a burst of emotion filled his chest, so hard and so bright, he had to close his eyes momentarily. When he opened them again, White Beak was right in front of him, gazing at Rio in a way that made his heart tremble. It didn’t make any sense—not logically anyway—but it was the same way his mom used to gaze at him.

Full of love.

The thought that such love could come from a wild animal should have felt strange. Especially from a species that had been so mistreated by humans. But somehow it didn’t. In fact, it felt as though this love had always been there and always would be. Theirs was a bond as old as time and as deep as the ocean.

From behind him, Rio could hear the calls from those on the boat, getting increasingly louder and more shrill. By now, his legs were tired from treading water and his eyes stung so much he could barely even see. But despite all this, he didn’t want to turn around. Not yet.

“I . . . I . . .” He wanted to say something, but he wasn’t sure what. What could you say to such a creature? The whale looked at him one last time and then began to slowly lower her head.

Rio’s whole body was beginning to ache now from being in the cold water. White Beak dipped her nose forward and pressed it lightly against his chest. Then she gave him the gentlest of nudges and pushed him back toward the boat. All the while, he kept his eyes pinned to her face as she slowly slipped under the water and disappeared beneath the surface.

Even though he was now right next to the hull of the Spyhopper, and Marina was leaning over the edge yelling at him to grab the pole, Rio didn’t move. Instead he just stared at the ripples in the water, the only sign that White Beak had been there at all, and wondered why he suddenly felt so alone.

Then, abruptly, he was yanked out of the ocean and hauled over the side of the boat. Once on deck, he coughed and spat out a mouthful of seawater. His eyes stung, and his skin felt puckered and cold.