Lowanna.

One morning on patrol she saw something tangled in a drum line: from a distance it looked like trash, up close it was a young mako shark, dead. Not exactly her own species, but one of the water's own. She untangled it alone, measured it, logged it, and filled out the report with every detail. Ever since, every time she sees one of those lines from the tower, she feels a pull in her stomach that never quite lets go. She doesn't say it out loud. She carries it, the way you carry the things you decide never to put down.

On the wall of her studio, on Liverpool Street, Lowanna keeps a current map with pins: blue where she's swum, red for the rescues, yellow for the sightings. The one that keeps growing is the yellow one; the one that doesn't come back one year stays as a gap. I created her face-on, wearing that same calm: a portrait you hang once and it stays put, like the map on the wall. If you want the rest of her story, it's all there in her bio.