For a few minutes, it almost seemed normal. Simply two people standing over a table, solving a logistics problem, as if we were troubleshooting a system failure or planning for a storm surge, instead of the end of everything we’d ever known.
He tapped the main tank area with his pen.
“We need to ration our resources,” he said.
I looked up.
“What do you mean?”
“The fish,” he said. “We transfer everything we can into the main tank.”
My stomach tightened.
“Callan…”
“The smaller exhibits are resource drains,” he continued, his voice steady and practical in a way that told me he’d already thought this through and was just walking me to the conclusion. “Independent filtration systems. Separate heating elements. Separate feed schedules. Each one pulling power we can’t afford to waste.”
“Callan, the sharks—”
“They’ll do what sharks do.”
The words hit hard.
My voice sharpened. “They’ll decimate half those populations within days.”
He met my eyes, not defensively, not dismissively, but honest.
“This issurvival,” he said quietly.
The word changed the temperature of the room.
“The sharks and Frank are the most valuable animals in this building,” he continued. “The main tank is our most stable ecosystem, with the largest water volume and the best thermal regulation. If power becomes limited… when power becomes limited—that’s the one we preserve.”
Frank.
The hundred-year-old green sea turtle who had been living in that tank since before either of us was born. Frank, whom Callan checked on every single morning before he spoke to another human being. Frank, whom he hand-fed on Tuesdays and Fridays, whom he talked to when he thought no one was watching.
Something flickered across his face when he said the name—brief, buried, but I saw it.
“I’m being honest with you, Sloane,” he said, his voice lower now. “I don’t think this is ending anytime soon.”
The cafeteria seemed to shrink.
“And I’m trying to buy them time,” he added, “mainly Frank.”
I leaned back slightly, my fingers curling against the edge of the table.
It was a solid plan. Logically, it was the right call. Consolidate systems. Preserve the most stable environment. Minimize energy consumption across the board and extend the life of the generators as long as possible.
Emotionally, it was like triage.
Like standing in front of a row of tanks and deciding which lives were worth the power it cost to keep them alive.
“It’s going to hurt,” I said quietly, “watching it happen.”
“I know.”
Silence settled between us.