The pollen moved whenever Seren brought the fork closer.

At first, she blamed her breathing. She held still until her lungs ached. The pale grains continued their small, deliberate orbit.

She sounded the fork again.

The capsule opened another millimetre.

Years earlier, her supervisor had shattered a specimen trying to free its seed. His report called the casing brittle. Seren had signed beneath him; she had been young enough to mistake certainty for experience.

Now she watched the resin flex around the ivory prongs.

It needed pauses. Time to settle between vibrations.

She waited until the last grain came to rest before sounding another note.

Somewhere in the cavern, water struck stone. Seren counted the drops, keeping an interval she would later write into the collection manual.

Under the section they had once called Extraction, she would put a different word.

Release.