Henrik followed last, yanking the motor cord with frozen fingers. The bear reached the edge of the ridge and stopped. She didn’t charge. She didn’t roar. She just watched as the skiff peeled away into the churning mist. And then—just once—she let out a single, haunting sound.
The skiff slammed against the ice edge as Henrik yanked the motor cord again and again, the small engine coughing through sleet. Waves rolled beneath them, knocking the boat sideways, and ice chunks crashed against the hull like teeth in a closing jaw.