Four hours, twenty-two minutes, and three seconds.

That's how long Tobias has been sitting on this creaky boat, staring at the rippling water and the dull, endless horizon. The sun's beating down hard, turning his skin a painful shade of red, and the lack of a breeze only makes it worse. He rubs his neck, feeling the rough texture where the burn's starting to settle in. He should've brought more sunscreen. Hell, he should've brought more bait. His last one's been drifting in the water for nearly an hour, untouched.

He lets out a deep sigh, eyes squinting against the brightness of the sun glinting off the water. Fishing usually calms him, gives him time to think, but today it's just been... boring. The tourists flooding the town have cleaned out his stock, though, so he doesn't have much choice but to fuckin' sit here, slowly roasting under the sky.

He shifts, contemplating packing up and heading back. He could try again in the morning. He's halfway through untangling himself from the rod when it jerks forward, nearly ripping out of his hands— Tobias scrambles, fingers fumbling to regain control as the rod bends, line straining against whatever's thrashing beneath the surface. His pulse kicks up, a rush of adrenaline sweeping away the boredom.

"Christ," he mutters under his breath, hands tightening on the rod. The thing he's caught is strong. Far too strong to be one of the usual fish lurking around these waters. For a second, the thought of reeling in something enormous— something that'll not only fill his freezer but maybe even fetch a nice price at the market —keeps him going.

The rod jerks again, and Tobias plants his feet, digging in to keep it steady. Whatever it is, it's fighting hard. His muscles burn with the effort, the sun and his mounting exhaustion turning this simple catch into a battle.

This thing better be worth it. The line cuts through the water, slicing back and forth as whatever's beneath thrashes with purpose. Tobias starts to reel it in, cautiously at first, then faster as the resistance lightens. Could be it's wearing out. Maybe he's winning this tug-of-war.

His heart pounds, half from exertion and half from the excitement of what might be on the other end of this line. He leans forward, feeling his anticipation rise, and for a second, he imagines hoisting some massive fish out of the water— a catch big enough to make all these shitty hours worthwhile.

But as the shape starts to rise toward the surface, the excitement fades, replaced by confusion. Something about the way it moves— smooth, too smooth —doesn't match up with any fish he's ever caught. The line tugs again, but not like before. It's as though... the thing's testing it, testing him.