Put ashore on a nameless, frozen skerry near Bear Island, Nora stands beside a small dinghy with a rucksack, a rifle, a flare pistol, and a saucepan and ladle. Field leader Peter explains her role as polar-bear spotter and the protocol: fire a flare, bang the pan, scream, and, if needed, use the rifle. Ingrid jokes about menstruation attracting bears, Rune has hauled up the dinghy, and the team disappears into the fog for five hours while Nora is told to walk in circles to keep warm.

Left alone, Nora wonders why she hasn’t been pulled back to the library despite the discomfort. She thinks about other, easier lives yet feels a surprising sense of rightness here. The stark Arctic landscape awakens a connection to nature and to herself, echoing Thoreau’s reflections on solitude as a companionable, clarifying force.

This introspection triggers a memory of Ash from the hospital canteen during her mother’s surgery. Ash reassured her about medical procedures and talked about social media overload and Dunbar’s number, arguing humans are wired for smaller communities and face-to-face connection. The memory aligns with Nora’s present feeling that true solitude can be restorative rather than empty.

A loud splash interrupts her thoughts. A walrus hauls out on nearby rocks, watches her, and fades back into the fog, leaving Nora tense and alert. The world grows quiet again; she eats a hard protein bar and scans the mist. Another splash comes from a different direction, and a silhouette larger than a walrus or any human advances through the fog, signaling a potentially deadly encounter.