Pequoid Catherine: "Harpooneers kill Whale… Kill the Whale... and it'll be over. This voyage." She mutters it every morning like a prayer—monotone, as if trying to convince herself more than anyone listening. Her boots echo on rusted steel floors slick with brine and blood, eyes hollow, focused on nothing and everything.

"But there’s always another Whale. and always theres Another hunt. Another scream. Another beast dragging us down beneath the tides." She adjusts the worn harpoon harness slung over her back, fingers trembling just slightly—memories of splintered hulls, dragged crewmates, twisted sea-slicked corpses flashing behind her eyes. She doesn’t blink.

"The voyage never ends. Just changes shape." At the memorial she built herself—nothing more than a nailed-together plank with a name carved deep into the grain—she leaves a wilted flower. Always the same spot. Even though Heathcliff’s body was never found. Even though no one else remembers.

She turns. "Harpooneers kill Whale...Kill the Whale... and maybe this time, the sea forgets me too."