“Time to climb back up,” she said, and began walking. Em blinked. Frowned. “What?” “Climbing up. To the surface?” “That’s not what you said.” Gyre stopped, listening to the water sliding from her suit, pattering against the shallow pool she stood in. “Of course it is. What else would I have said?” “You said time to climb back down.” She went very still, the siren call of Isolde’s fate echoing in her mind. No. No, she had rejected that for what it was—the fevered exhaustion of a desperate heart.
