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This space is much tighter than the previous one I was in.

Exposure therapy, Olivia.I run through the protocols in my mind.You’re safe. You’re a skilled swimmer. There’s nothing to be afraid of.

Ground yourself. Name five things you see, smell, and hear.Starfish—pink. Sound of water lapping against the walls. Salt and—

My lungs seize and my stomach turns. I close my eyes and focus on breathing.Salty water and—

I’m safe.Pretend Mia were here. She’d laugh at me. She’d remind me not to let one elevator mishap in tenth grade freak me out for the rest of my life. After all, the technicians rescued me, didn’t they?

They sure did.

Ten hours after I embarrassingly peed my pants.

It’s all your fault, Mia. Putting these ideas in my head—Las Fallas, regrets, turning thirty. You should be here with me.

I tread water, my mind spinning, my heavy breathing bellowing against the jagged walls.

Too small. Too tight. Too suffocating.

I can’t breathe.

“Shit. Shit. Shit.” The world swirls, cold sweat breaking over my face.

I need to keep my wits about me and get out.

I need to escape.

Panic will kill me, not the waters or the cave.

Arms thrashing, I grapple at the rocks, desperate to find purchase and hang on until the terror subsides.

Suddenly, the gentle waves morph into violent crashes, further aggravating the storm thundering inside my ears. Dots blind my vision and I flail, desperate to escape.

Out of nowhere, two thick tendrils wrap around my waist, followed by a strong column of scorching heat plastered on my back.

Monster. I can’t escape.

My screams echo in the chamber, deafening my ears as I fight off the intruder—Poseidon, Calliope, her evil sisters, my past—whoever’s strangling me and pulling me down into the dark depths.

“Shit! Stop struggling!” Large hands grip my wrists before pinning them behind my back. Those tendrils, which I now realize are muscular arms, cinch me tightly against the massive body behind me.

“Let go of me!” I thrash harder, kicking my feet, throwing my head back against my would-be killer.

“Stop it, Olivia. Stop it! You’re safe. It’s me. You’re safe.”

My body stills, clearly recognizing the rumbly voice before my mind catches up.

Rex. The devil himself. What the hell?

“What the fuck are you doing out here, Olivia?” he rasps against my ear between rough, panting breaths.

I open my mouth to speak, but nothing comes out. Still petrified, I grip his arms, needing to hold on to something solid.

“Shhh, I got you. I got you.”

Closing my eyes, I focus on his warmth.Deep breaths in, longer exhales out.These are strategies I give to patients suffering from anxiety and panic disorders.

Heck, I gave the same advice to Maxwell a few years ago when he was having a full-blown breakdown in my office.