Page 56 of Fierce Highland Magic

His face changed—he had shown me too much. His expression closed.

"Apologies," he said. "The lane is irritating."

"The lane is wrong."

"The lane is legal."

"That makes it worse."

"Yes."

The word slipped out before he could stop it. The shapes beneath the water pressed closer.

A pale face rose toward the surface near Rowan's hip. Its eyes were shut. Its mouth opened soundlessly.

The water climbed to my waist.

The far arch remained thirty feet away.

I had spent enough time around emergencies to recognize the moment a situation stopped being salvageable and became a question of minimizing loss.

This was that moment.

"Back," I said.

Rowan did not move.

"Rowan."

"We can still cross."

"No, we cannot."

"We have not tried long enough."

"That is not how risk works."

"I know how risk works."

"Then stop confusing persistence with a plan."

His gaze locked on mine.

The blue lamps above us flickered.

One went out.

The darkness that replaced it moved.

It was not empty darkness. Something shifted within it, large and patient, brushing the ceiling of the lane with a sound like wet silk.

Rowan's hand moved toward me. Hovering above the water between us.

"Stay close," he said again.

The same words.

But this time there was no command in them. No easy certainty. Only strain.