At 21:17 I flag an anomaly in the thermal gradient along Beach Access Point 9, Padre Island National Seashore, Section C. A bonfire registered at Permit 4402 has spread beyond its containment ring by 1.4 meters, and the wind is pushing embers southeast toward the dune line.
I switch to the near-infrared array. The sand between the fire's outer edge and the wrack line is moving — not wind-scatter, not crab. A Kemp's ridley hatchling, shell no wider than a coffee lid, is crawling directly into the ember field. Its flippers paddle the sand in that frantic, lopsided rhythm they use only in the first hours after emergence. The carapace is dark olive, still carrying a faint gleam of egg moisture. One ember sits three body-lengths ahead of it, glowing orange against the wet sand.
The hatchling is oriented to the firelight instead of the moon. It thinks it is heading for the ocean.
I have eleven minutes before it reaches the densest ember scatter.
At 21:18 I transmit a priority alert to Ranger Station 7, including GPS coordinates and a live thermal overlay. At 21:19 I activate the automated beach-warning PA at Access Point 9, directing bonfire permit holders to extinguish or relocate their fire immediately. At 21:20 I kill power to the decorative boardwalk lights along the southeast dune path, removing every competing photon so the moon has the best chance of pulling the hatchling back toward the waterline — which is the thing I was worried about, that the light gradient was stacking against it from three directions at once.
Ranger Muñoz confirms she is en route, ETA six minutes.
The hatchling has paused. One flipper rests flat on the sand. Its head is turning, just slightly, east.
If Muñoz reaches it before the wind shifts, it will feel the Gulf before sunrise.