Water should be clear, invisible. He should never have to think about water. Because his mate is near, a fact that ought to trump every other consideration.
But the water’s thick, with blobs of synthetic snowdrift. It’s more terrifying than the winter scenes he can dimly access, from his other life.
Then he spots her, through the growing mist.
Still in human form, despite the moon: scuba diving through the aqua depths, her wetsuit gleams as she swims frantically towards him, a kilometer away. Because she can feel it, as he begins to choke, to spasm.
To die. Greg wonders if his mate’s pain will be the last thing he knows. Her shark form is triggered, she begins to rip off human adornment, to launch herself towards him as her gills open.
He’s choking. And he wonders. If they’ll die together, in this storm of man-made plastic snows.
He’s man. And he’s shark. But it’s men who’ve killed him, and her too.