Moss stands on the ice dock, gripping a rope, as the Amara's crew loads the last crates into the dark water.Moss's modified hand, a muted blend of colors, reflects the dim dock light, fingers slightly splayed, amber eyes glinting.Vihaan extends a small hand to Moss, who reaches back, their eyes meeting under the warm corridor light.Moss stands on the ice dock, head tilted back, the vast, gray-white sky enveloping him after months underground.Moss stands at the Amara's rail, hand in pocket, facing the vast, dark water under a gray sky.Moss stands on the icy dock, hands braced on a crate, as crew members load the *Amara* under the cold, blue light.Vihaan, in his crisp uniform, hands a small medical monitor to Moss, their faces composed amidst the warm and cold corridor.Moss stands on the deck, lightened face upturned to the vast, gray-white polar sky, hands at his sides.Moss stands at the stern rail, hands flat on the alloy, watching the ice shelf recede into the distance.
