The culling-pens stink of salt and rust. In the smallest pool, a sea-dragon hatchling shivers behind the bars, no bigger than Nerai herself. Its wings are dull gray, and one fin is notched from birth. The breed-masters have chalked a white cross on its side: runt, unfit, to be drowned at dawn. Nerai grips the cold bars. She has until sunrise.

Nerai decides to steal it. She finds the keeper's keys hanging by the gate and slips one into the lock of the small pool. It clicks open. The hatchling lifts its head and stares at her with wide silver eyes.