He squeezed her throat tightly one more time.
Cold.
That was the first thing. No breath. No light. No surface.
Just cold.
It slammed her lungs shut and dragged her down, icy water smashing her chest like a wall. The world vanished into dark current and pressure. Her arms were bound. Her hands wouldn’t move—zip ties. Her legs kicked uselessly.
She couldn’t breathe. No up. No down. Just the roar of blood in her ears and the fire in her chest. Then something. Felt like concrete? Was it a pipe? It struck her ribs, jolted her. She rolled her shoulder, aimed for motion. Anything.
She kicked again. Her lungs were done.
Her head broke the surface with a violent splash, and air punched down her throat like a fist. She coughed, choked, flailed. Water crashed over her face again, and for a second, she thought she’d go under.
No.
She spotted the ledge. A narrow concrete lip, slim enough for her to wedge a shoulder. She kicked toward it, arms bound, hands frozen, blood in her mouth. Her chest hit the edge.
And she stayed there.
Alive. Still drowning in air.
Her body shook uncontrollably. The cold wasn’t just cold anymore. It had crawled into her bones. Her muscles seized, heart slowing.
Mom, help.She thought of all the times her mom was there for her. She needed her now.
Focus. The ties. She twisted her arms, angled her wrists against the chipped ledge, and started sawing. Back and forth.
Again.
Again.
Plastic cut through her skin. Warm blood spilled down her wrists. She didn’t care.
It wasn’t enough. She bit her lip so hard, she tasted copper again. She sawed harder.
Again.
The tie gave.
She pulled her hands apart and collapsed backward onto the concrete. She couldn’t feel her legs. Or her face.
The last thing she saw was a shape running toward her through the fog. A voice calling, low and urgent, “Shannon.”
Dante droppedto his knees beside her. She was barely hanging on. Her arms were slick with blood and river sludge. Her skin was white, not pale. Waxy. Pulse thready.
He stripped his jacket and wrapped it around her, then lifted her and radioed command. “Olivo Actual to Ops. Code Black. Cadet down. Hypothermic, pulse weak, unresponsive. Immediate evac.” He gave their position.
“Copy, Olivo. Ambulance inbound. ETA seven minutes.”
“She doesn’t have seven minutes.” He rocked her against him.
She made a sound. Barely. “Kru… ger.”
“Shannon, stay with me.”
She didn’t respond. Didn’t move. Didn’t shiver anymore. That scared him more than the blood.
