The dinghy lowers.
He tips back alongside Sienna.
The ocean closes over them, swallowing them into the hush and the blue.
I stand there, breathless, while the crane drops into position with a brutal, metallic grind.
My heart pounds in my ribs as I race to my monitors. The underwater livestream is soundless and static-laced. Sienna’s silhouette descends through the murk.
Nobody on the ship speaks.
No Blaze commentary.
No Orson corrections.
No crew shouting.
Everyone watches.
On phones. Tablets. My studio monitors. Even the crane operator has one eye down as he rides the controls.
The feed is getting darker.
The chat trickles in beside the footage:
please save her
donating again
come on mama
I can’t breathe watching this
The murk thins. A shape materializes—a rusted, jagged tomb that used to be a washing machine. And inside the drum is the sea lion mama.
She’s suspended. Slack. Still.
She isn’t fighting the machine. She’s just hanging there in the water, flippers hanging limp.
“No,” I try to say, but it comes out hollow.
On-screen, Sienna is a flurry of urgency. With lethal precision, one hand steadies the adult sea lion while the other threads the straps around the machine. Her muscles strain under the ocean’s violent tug.
The chat is going crazy. Hundreds of messages stacking and collapsing over each other:
WHY ISN’T SHE MOVING?!
Sienna please
is she breathing underwater??
someone answer
I just sent $250, come on mama
Sienna muscles the harness into place, bubbles streaming from her regulator. The hook finds the rusted frame.
A massive surge hits. The hook slides. Sienna’s arm wrenches sideways with it.
