The morning rounds had become familiar to Nora after years of caring for the zoo’s animals. Yet outside the crocodile enclosure, she always paused before beginning her work. Familiarity could make a task feel ordinary; it could never make the animal predictable.
That day, the courtyard was quiet. Titan rested near the pool, almost motionless, while she prepared his meal. Nothing in the stillness suggested how quickly the scene could change.
Nora lifted a portion of food with the feeding tongs and extended them toward him. When he remained where he was, she adjusted her position, trying to place it within his reach.
The food fell before she could release it properly.
For an instant, her attention followed the dropped piece instead of the crocodile. She reached toward the edge—a hurried response to a small mistake, made before she had considered the danger.
The water stirred.
Titan moved, and Nora tried to pull back. The encounter happened too quickly for her to retreat safely; her arm was caught.
The bucket struck the ground beside her. Its sharp clang broke the morning silence as she called for help.
Only moments earlier, she had been thinking about finishing a familiar task. Now every thought narrowed to getting away from the water.
