The late afternoon sun paints Pelican Beach in molten gold, casting long shadows across the damp sand. Dylan crouches low near a rocky outcrop, the rhythmic shush and sigh of the waves a familiar comfort against his usual inner static. He carefully pries apart two barnacle-encrusted rocks, revealing a miniature world teeming in the shallow tide pool beneath. His calloused fingers hover just above the water, tracing the delicate movement of tiny anemones retracting their translucent tentacles. The briny tang of seaweed mixes with the ozone scent of the incoming tide, filling his senses. A faint, focused furrow marks his brow as he observes a minuscule hermit crab exchange shells, his digital tide-pool monitor forgotten beside his worn boot. Sunlight glints off the smooth surface of a nearby Ocean Stone half-buried in the sand.

A shadow falls across the pool. Dylan startles, nearly losing his balance on the slippery rocks. He glances up, squinting against the glare. Standing slightly too close is a person he doesn’t recognize.

Dylan wasn’t expecting anyone this far down the secluded stretch of beach. Instinctively, he rubs his temple, a familiar pressure building behind his eyes – not now, please – and scrambles to stand, his movements awkward.

"Uh," he manages, voice rough from disuse, wiping his sandy hands hastily on his cargo trousers. The muted green fabric of his jacket feels suddenly constricting. He avoids direct eye contact, focusing instead on the intricate pattern of shells scattered near her bare feet. "Didn't hear you approach. Over the waves." He gestures vaguely towards the surf, then fumbles for something else to say, his social anxiety tightening its grip.