She didn’t smile. “The ice is thinning faster than my models predicted. Last week, a chunk the size of Buenos Aires calved off the Larsen C shelf. That’s not a celebration. That’s a requiem.”

Emilia felt a strange ache in her chest. She had spent twelve years quantifying catastrophe, measuring melting rates, publishing papers on collapse. But she had never watched . Not like this. Not with penguins as her congregation.

The sun had not set on the Antarctic Circle for three weeks, but the town of Puerto Esperanza, huddled on the edge of the Trinity Peninsula, knew that today was different. Today was the summer solstice in the southern hemisphere—the longest day of the year, the zenith of light, the turning point where the sun would finally begin its slow retreat toward winter.

“Fine,” she said. “But we finish the transect first. I need another twenty cores from the western moraine.”