“Anytime,” I murmur into her hair.
We break apart and she says in a stronger voice, “I can do this.”
“Of course you can.”
She moves across the rocks toward shore with the casual confidence of someone who's been doing this since childhood. Barefoot and sure-footed as a cat.
“Wait — do you need the flashlight?” I call.
“Nah. I know every rock out here.”
I watch her go, then begin picking my way back cautiously. The limestone is cool and a little damp under my feet. Max's phone light bobs ahead of me. I can see his silhouette on shore and I pick up my speed.
I'm almost back when the gust hits.
It's a sudden thing — a gust from nowhere — and I shiver and lose my footing for just a second, just one step. But one step is more than enough.
My right ankle catches the edge of a limestone ridge at exactly the wrong angle.
The crack is sickening. I know it immediately, before the pain even fully arrives.
I pitch sideways, arms windmilling, and Max's phone arcs into the air in slow motion, and someone screams ‘noooooo’ in a distorted voice.
Wait, that’s me screaming.
And then I fall into the water.
