It was noon, and the weak winter sun barely warmed the frozen shore. Nome sat quiet in the distance, and Boris could guess exactly where Balto was—likely lingering near Jenna’s place, no doubt finding excuses to stay a little longer. That left Boris alone with Muk and Luk, which meant his usual cleaning was twice as frustrating.

With a determined huff, he scrubbed at the icy floor of their shipwreck home, only to glance up and see the two polar bears tangled in their latest mischief—batting around an old, half-frozen rope they had dug up from the wreck.

Luk whimpered, his voice full of sorrowful weight.

Muk translated with practiced ease. “Luk says, ‘Oh, the burden of a bear unfit for the sea. No wonder we are outcasts, drifting like ice with no home.’”

Boris rolled his eyes, pausing his work just long enough to wave a wing at them. “Yes, yes, very poetic. Now kindly take existential crisis somewhere else, I am cleaning!”

He barely had time to return to his task before—knock, knock. A sharp rapping against the side of the shipwreck.

Boris froze, mop held mid-sweep. Muk and Luk exchanged nervous glances, the rope forgotten.

Boris narrowed his eyes. “Now who could that be…?”