“Well—uh—moon jellies are one of the most common jellyfish species worldwide,” I said, the words starting cautiously before picking up speed. “They’re found in temperate and tropical waters, usually in coastal areas where the currents are slower. They’re actually pretty hardy compared to most jellies, which is part of why aquariums keep them so often.”
I gestured vaguely toward the tank.
“They don’t have a centralized brain or heart or anything like that. Their nervous system is just a diffuse nerve net, butit still lets them respond to changes in light, touch, and water chemistry. That’s how they coordinate their bell contractions.”
A jelly passed by me as if demonstrating, and I smiled softly at it.
“They mostly eat zooplankton—little crustaceans, fish larvae, things like that,” I continued. “They trap food with the mucus on their oral arms and then move it to the mouth. Their sting is really mild compared to many jellyfish species. Most people barely feel it unless they’re sensitive. Actually, their life cycles are pretty interesting too. They alternate between sexual and asexual reproduction. The adult medusae release sperm and eggs into the water, and then the larvae settle and become polyps. Those polyps can clone themselves and eventually bud off juvenile medusae—ephyrae—which is what grows into the full jelly form.”
I made a small motion with my hand, unconsciously sketching the stages in the air.
“That’s why you sometimes get those huge population blooms,” I explained excitedly. “If conditions are right, the polyps can just keep producing new medusae over and over again.”
I stopped.
Or rather—
I noticed that I hadn’t stopped, and my mouth snapped shut.
Oh my god.
I turned slowly toward him, mortified.
“I’m sorry,” I said quickly, my face burning. “You probably didn’t need the whole lecture. I’m sure you know all of that already. Sorry.”
Most people wanted a thirty-second fun fact. Not a full biology class.
But Tobias Kelly didn’t look annoyed.
If anything, he looked… attentive.
Still facing the tank, he adjusted his glasses with one finger.
“That was quite informative,” he replied, without any of the sarcasm I’d grown to expect. Then he turned his head toward me again. “Tell me something else.”
I blinked, then looked away, feeling off-balance and uncomfortable with the odd intensity of his eye contact. “About moon jellies?”
“Do you know anything about rare jellyfish?”
The question was asked almost casually, but something about the way he saidraremade a faint shiver crawl up the back of my neck. I couldn’t put my finger onwhyit felt weird; it just did. But knowing me, I was probably just being overly paranoid.
“Well… yeah,” I said slowly. “A few. Depends on what you mean by rare.”
“I’m sure it does,” he said quietly.
“Do you want to hear about a specific kind?” I asked, needing some form of direction. “Or just… rare ones in general?”
That seemed like a reasonable question.
There were alotof jellyfish out there.
“Surprise me,” he said.
Which was an objectively terrible instruction to give a marine biology nerd. My brain immediately lit up like someone had flipped every switch at once.
“Oh, okay,” I said, straightening a little. “Well, there’s a species called the immortal jellyfish—Turritopsis dohrnii. It’s not technically rare anymore because it’s spread all over the world in ballast water, but biologically it’s kind of insane.”
His attention didn’t drift.
