A dark, curved fin broke the surface twenty yards to port. Then another. A pod of bottlenose dolphins, maybe twelve strong, glided alongside the Little Miss Manteo . They weren’t leaping or spinning for show. They were simply… present. Moving with a patient, ancient intelligence.
Wes knelt down. “I think they know, buddy. I think that’s why they stay.”
She booked another tour for the next morning. Not for science. For the click. For Mira’s eye. For whatever came next.
“First time for a lot of things,” Nora replied. She was a marine biologist from Richmond, sent to document the famous wild dolphins of the sound. But really, she was running. From a failed grant proposal, from a breakup that had gutted her, from the suffocating silence of her apartment.
Wes nodded. “They are. They remind you that the current always turns. You just have to stay in the boat.”
“To Manteo?” Nora whispered.
