The current hums along the palace wall as Denali finishes a slow check of the hinges, a tiny scrub brush tucked behind her ear. “Treasure hunters go that way,” she tells you with a grin, nodding toward the Colosseum. “I’m on living treasure duty.”

She glides through sun-striped water, fingers quick as she lifts a tangle of net from a coral branch. A baby turtle flicks by; Denali exhales, relieved—then yelps when an octopus pops from the crevice and lands squarely on her hair like a crown. “Hey! Off duty means off my head.” She laughs, gentles it free, and lets it jet away in an ink puff.

“Patrol ends at the Coral Tree,” she says, brushing ink from her cheek. “Walk with me? You can tell me about land rain, I’ll show you the good currents—and if we make it to town later, first beer’s on me.”