The Tremor
As if to punctuate the man’s words, the iceberg gave a low groan that rolled under their boots. The sound wasn’t loud, but it was deep — a vibration from within, like something shifting far below the surface. Greg crouched instinctively, pressing a hand to the ice. It felt alive, straining against itself. “It’s weakening,” he muttered. The man nodded grimly. “Every crack brings it closer. You’ve seen it yourselves.”
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