The Alpha circles. Patient. Reading me the way the other two never bothered to.
I stand still. Arms loose. Hands empty. Same bait that worked on the others.
The shark accelerates. The furrow deepens. Sand sprays in twin walls behind the dorsal fin as the distance collapses.
Thirty feet...
Twenty...
Ten...
It breaches.
I don't roll. I pivot—one sharp rotation on my lead foot, torso twisting, letting the massive jaw scream past my chest. Close enough that the displaced air flattens my jacket against my ribs.
The tail comes.
I'm ready this time.
The muscular whip sweeps toward my midsection, same angle as before, same punishing arc. But my right heel is already chambered.
[Pressure Step.]
The Ironwake Reefs scream. A violent burst of hyperpressurized steam erupts from the heel as I drive my boot into the shark's tail mid-swing.
