Nothing will until I find and rescue Monroe.
I swim down into the black, searching the spot I’d last seen the wardrobe.
The sea is a terrifying void. Currents pull at me from every direction, trying to drag me away from where I need to go.
Visibility is next to nonexistent—just endless black, broken only by the muffled flashes of lightning from far above.
My lungs burn for air, and my broken ribs throb for everystroke I make. The stab wound in my chest pulses blood into the water and my dislocated shoulder makes it significantly harder to stroke my arms. But I push deeper, following the direction I saw the wardrobe sink.
My hands search blindly through the darkness, reaching and grasping and finding nothing. Panic claws away at me.
I’m running out of air. Running out of time.
Monroeis running out of time.
Then, just as I’m realizing this could be how I lose after all, my fingers brush against wood.
The wardrobe.
I find the latch and wrench at it, but it’s stuck. I brace my feet against the side, agony shooting through what’s probably broken toes, and pull with the strength I have left.
Muscles straining and limbs aching, tiny spots waver in front of my eyes. I’m growing lightheaded, having held my breath for too long.
The latch gives way.
I wrench the door open and reach inside, my hand closing around fabric and then flesh.
It’s a limp and unresponsive Monroe, her body drifting like a dummy in the current.
I grab her under the arms and pull her free, kicking desperately toward the surface as my body gradually runs out of steam.
But it can’t. Not yet. Not until we make it out of this.
It’s sheer force of will that carries us the rest of the way. My stubborn defiance and refusal to give up.
We break through, and I gasp for air, lungs heaving, hauling her body toward the rocky shore. The waves fight me every inch of the way, walls of icy water crashing over us, trying to drag us back under.
But once again, I refuse to let go. I refuse to lose her.
I drag her onto the rocks and lay her flat on herback. In the flash of lightning, I see her face. Her lips are blue and eyes are closed, her expression eerily vacant.
Her chest is alarmingly still.
She’s not breathing.
“No,” I rasp. “NO!”
Tilting her head back, I pinch her nose and seal my mouth over hers, forcing air into her lungs.
After the first attempt, I try again and again, urging her to breathe. My hands press down on her chest, starting compressions to bring her back.
“Come on,” I pant desperately. “Come on, Tokki-ya. Don’t do this to me… please?—”
I breathe more air into her mouth again, following up with compressions.
Fifteen, sixteen, seventeen.
Twenty.
