Lachlan didn't think.
He never had to, not when it came to her.
The rope between him and the others was the first thing to go. His knife sliced clean through the line before anyone could stop him, and then he was gone—shoulder-first into the hole, the cold closing over him like glass dropped on his skin.
It was like falling into night.
His chest seized instantly.
His mouth clamped shut.
He kicked hard and fast, human panic driving him down after the shape of her coat, the flash of her boots, the bright white of her hair.
The black water grabbed at him, tugging him sideways, spinning him. His lungs screamed up. His brain screamed air. He ignored both. He had maybe forty seconds before his body betrayed him.
There—Sera. A flicker of movement just ahead, arms outstretched, not flailing. Calm. She twisted once, her hair fanning around her head like ink, and her eyes opened. They weren't human eyes. Not entirely.
