Evening clung to Hel like a damp blanket. The murmur of the bay mingled with the rhythm of the open sea, and the wind carried the salt-freshness and hints of seaweed inland. Above the harbour the quiet orange lights of the boats moved, lazily swayed by the current. The window of the Marine Station reflected the thin, almost steel-like line of the horizon. Lena pulled the sleeves of her fleece sweatshirt over her hands and moved her laptop closer to her. Points blinked on the screen - the latest readings from the transmitters of the young seals released a fortnight ago. Each point had a name, given by the children during the open day. "Badger", "Seagull", "Turbo". She smiled at the memory of the boy who insisted that the seal should be called 'Turbo' because it swims 'the fastest in the world'. - 'You've got tea before you know it's cold,' said Olek, appearing in the doorway with two mugs and a loose cap halfway down his forehead. - 'Here,' she replied, without taking her eyes off the map. - Just so you don't flood the keyboard. Eve will kill me. Olek set the mug on the windowsill and glanced over her shoulder. It smelled of bergamot and wet wood. - Is something wrong? - He asked. Lena furrowed her brow. - "Badger." See. He's supposed to be somewhere by the sandbank on the other side of the bay, and here he is.... A green dot trembled on the map. It was unnaturally close to the forest line, as if it was skipping over dry land. Lena clicked several times, zooming in on the view. The signals formed a jagged line that started near the water and then went between the pines, towards the old bunkers. - 'Doesn't make sense,' muttered Olek. - Either the waves have gone crazy or someone is playing with our antennas. - Or... someone took the transmitter off - finished Lena, and she felt a hard, cold stone in her stomach. - Eve said it happens when a seal gets caught in the net and someone is in a hurry. Cut it off and throw it away so there's no trouble. At that moment, the phone on the desk vibrated. Lena jumped up, knocking over a pen. The emergency number of the seal centre. - Marine Station, hello... - The faint voice of a jogger with a head torch rang out. The man spoke quickly, as if he was still jogging. - 'On the beach, a few hundred metres outside Jurata, something is squeaking. I thought it was a bird, but more like... like a young cat, only intermittently. And there's... a box? I don't go any further. I also hear something metal. Lena exchanged a communicative glance with Olek. - Please stay at a distance and approach the entrance to the beach, where there are stairs. Someone will come out to you - she said as calmly as possible, although her heart sped up. - We are already sending a patrol. Eve was on her way to Puck to get medication for the sick seal. She picked up immediately. - Will you check it out with Olek? From a distance. No heroics - she threw out quickly. - You have thermal towels and gloves in your rescue backpack. I'll call the forest rangers, but before they get there... Be my eyes. If it's a cub, it needs silence. A few minutes later, Lena and Olek were closing the heavy station door behind them. The wind hit them like a soft, wet wall. They had head torches, a rucksack with basic equipment, neoprene gloves and a small hand-held receiver that could track the transmitter from several tens of metres. Olek, usually loud, was now silent. The sand underfoot creaked like snow. Above the water itself, where the waves ended their course with a thin lacy bank of foam, something gently glittered. Lena knew: at night, phosphorescence can dance even on such a chilly evening, shyly shimmering in the splashing droplets. Somewhere in the distance, a seagull cried out, too impatient to wait for tomorrow. - 'Turn it on,' advised Olek, indicating the hand-held receiver with his chin. Lena turned the dial. The receiver beeped once, a second, a third time. The sound was harsh, breaking off like cold laughter. They froze and then moved, guided by the increasing volume. A footprint in the wet sand appeared suddenly: a wide zigzag, as if someone was moving a heavy bag - a footprint typical of a seal dragging its belly across the sand. Next to it, fresh boot prints. Deep. With a serrated sole pattern. - 'Someone was here before us,' whispered Olek. - Earlier. See how sharp the edges of the prints are - replied Lena. - The wind hasn't erased them yet. The footprints were climbing up a gentle dune, through clumps of grass and remnants of dry sticks. The sour smell of old metal and damp concrete hit their noses. Between the pines rose low concrete silhouettes - the teeth of bunkers from a time they all preferred to remember only from stories. Torches snagged on the graffiti and slipped along the jagged edges. The receiver whined shorter, more frequently. The signal must have been close. Lena squeezed her breath as if the sound had the power to scar whatever was in front of them. - Can you hear it? - Olek tilted his head. - 'It's not the waves. From inside one of the bunkers came a metallic clanking, as if someone had lightly nudged a hanging chain railing. Every few seconds a quiet, exasperated sigh could be heard. An incomplete breath, characteristic of a seal ashore trying to calm down. - Slowly," muttered Lena. - No light directly into the eyes. Only revealing at an angle. They walked down three concrete steps that were perpetually damp. The air grew cooler. Lena's torch cut through the darkness in a narrow beam, sweeping the walls with the sign "Only night knows the way" and a pile of withered needles. Something orange glinted on the floor - a plastic fish box with a cracked ear. Someone had tried to repair it with string, which now hung loosely like a sad braid. Next to it lay a severed strip of hard plastic and a silver clamp bite. Lena didn't need to check to know: someone had already unhooked something once. The receiver beeped so loudly that it made their ears itch. The source of the signal was a few steps away, in a side corridor where dampness from the ceiling trickled down in beads. Olek reached out a hand and gently touched Lena's elbow: an 'I'm here' gesture. The beam of light stopped on something soft and grey. First they saw the whiskers - hard, white, like short needles, then the moist nose and the glint of big eyes. A seal, a small, most likely young female, huddled against the wall, holding something that looked like a string or a strap with her fin. Beneath her side lay something else, flat and dark. When Lena moved her torch, a silver plate with a number flashed towards them. - 'A transmitter,' breathed out Olek. - Or... part of it. The seal hissed warningly and twitched. Somewhere behind it, deep inside, something sounded, like a flap being raised and lowered. The light slid across the metal bar and went out on something they couldn't immediately name: too smooth for stone, too regular for chance. It was as if someone was putting the pieces of a larger puzzle together here. - 'Back off,' Lena whispered, feeling adrenaline enter all her fingers. - Don't move violently. Outside, the wind broke suddenly and hurled the front door of the bunker open. The concrete rectangle clanged against the doorframe with a groan, and the echo hit their necks. Lena's torch flicked on for a split second, as if someone had come to her aid - and then stabilised again. The seal made a short, dragging sound, after which a silence so thick they could hear their own blood spread through the tunnel. From above, from the level of the dune, came the quiet snapping of a branch. Someone stepped, trying to be lighter than their body weight. A second slam, closer to the edge. And then, very softly, a greenish spot lit up on the rusty railing at the entrance. Not the light of a torch. Too fine, too sharply focused. It glided across the lettering, across the damp patches, across the abandoned box, until it hit their silhouettes and stopped on Lena's chest. Olek tightened his fingers on the strap of his backpack. Lena raised her hand slowly, as if she could with this gesture stop the punctum in its tracks. - Do you hear that? - his voice was barely a breath. From the depths of the side corridor they were answered by the clatter of a chain, quiet, quick. It was followed by two short, hard sounds like the click of a switch. The signal in the headset sped up, like a heart just before a sprint. And then someone - or something - very low and snarling, so close that the air stirred the hairs on the back of Lena's neck.