It all happens in a fucking blink. As we descend the hill, Jane slips on the slick grass. Her hand slips out of mine, and she slides and slides. Too rapidly to catch, and Maximoff loses his footing. He falls next. Farrow and I rush after them, but both land in the knee-deep, bone-chilling rocky stream. I’ve never moved this fast. I’ve never picked Jane up this quickly, and I’ve never felt her arms wrap around me this tight. How the fuck did this happen?
