“No one has seen her in any of the other search areas either.” Birch took a worried glance at the flag, which was flapping briskly in the breeze. “Wind’s picked up.”

Marina frowned, and an impenetrable look passed between father and daughter. One that Rio wasn’t sure how to interpret and definitely one he didn’t like.

“We have to keep trying,” he pleaded.

And so, despite the increasingly turbulent waves, the four of them carried on searching. By now, Rio couldn’t even remember not being on the boat. Couldn’t remember what land looked like. Or not having the taste of seawater on his lips or the smell coating his skin. He had left his old self behind onshore, and in his place, somebody else had emerged. As if he had climbed inside a new, tougher skin fashioned out of the sea itself.

But even with renewed determination, the water remained frustratingly empty. None of the other boats out searching had seen White Beak either.

Where was she?

After an hour more of looking with nothing to show except for a friendly dolphin, a brightly colored shoal of fish, and ever-worsening weather, Birch stopped the boat. The light was starting to fade, and in the dusky twilight, everything—including them—had a shadowy, more urgent feel.

Fran insisted that he eat, but Rio chewed his sandwich as if it were made of cardboard. Marina kept clearing her throat, and Birch drummed his fingers on the wheel before finally disappearing below deck.

Rio swallowed. “What’s happening?”

Marina bit her lip, choosing her words carefully. “Dad said . . . we’ll have to turn back soon. Especially if the weather gets worse.”

“We can’t!” Rio cried. “Not until we find White Beak. I know she’s out here somewhere!”

“But . . . but we haven’t found her yet,” Marina said. “And look!” She waved at the gray clouds bunched in the sky and the ominous writhing water.

“We can’t give up! Not now! Not when we’ve come this far!”

“We can’t keep looking forever, Rio,” Marina replied gently. “Not if there’s nothing there.”

He stared furiously at her, scrunched the rest of his sandwich up in his hand, and threw it into the sea, where the murky depths swallowed it whole.

Birch emerged from the cabin. “We’re turning back,” he said. “It’s too dangerous to continue.”

Rio wanted to protest, but by that point, all the anger was packed so tightly in his throat, that he could barely even breathe, let alone speak. Raw panic clawed at his insides.

Birch patted his shoulder. “We tried, Rio. We gave it our best shot. And sometimes that’s the most important thing.”

The words were so reminiscent of the kind of thing his mom would say that Rio could almost see her standing at Birch’s shoulder.

“One more hour?” he begged. “Please, just one more hour?”

“I’m not sure there’s any point,” Birch replied. “I don’t think we’ll find her. Not now the visibility is so poor.”

Rio was bone tired. Tired not just of body but of soul and spirit. So tired it was tempting to give up. His eyes felt heavy, but the moment he closed them, it wasn’t dark, comforting sleep he saw. It was the gentlest, kindest face he had ever laid eyes on. The face that had been watching over him his entire time in Ocean Bay. Who had kept him safe in the water. She wasn’t just a whale. She was White Beak.