Page 99 of Salem’s Rise

I’m so angry I have to resist the urge to slap him. Again. No man has ever inspired this particular impulse in me as often as he has.

“You could have died, you idiot!”

“Yes.” His smile is real, though faint. “It’s nice to see you care.”

“You were underwater for almost three minutes in freezing cold. How did you do that?”

He just shrugs.

“I’m a good swimmer,” he says, which is an answer, but not one part of me believes it’s the truth.

Professor Nightwing’s voice carries over the pier. “One hundred seventy seconds,” he announces. “Station One leads the first round.”

Van’s partner’s body has barely been covered with a tarp before Professor Nightwing calls for the second round. No one protests. No one asks for more time even though one of us has already died a horrible death.

I want to be brave like Silas was when he gently helps me into the chair, but the sight of the strap across my chest and the restraints closing on my hands and legs makes me start to shake uncontrollably. It is humiliating, but I cannot stop.

“You don’t have to prove anything down there,” he says softly. “Ring the bell. Don’t try to win.”

The earlier sharpness is gone from his voice. So is the distance. The concern in his eyes is so unguarded it almost hurts.

“But you said that was the entire point,” I murmur.

I clutch the cord, my fingers digging painfully into the rope as the other three competitors are buckled into their seats. I’m going down with the scarred man whose name I still don’t know, Georgina, and Lena. Van, having murdered his own partner, gets to sit this lovely experience out.

Silas steps closer.

“Mercer.”

I force myself to meet his eyes.

“I won’t let anything happen to you,” he says, his hand covering mine over the bell cord. “I don’t lose what’s mine, Jack.”

For one dangerous heartbeat, I almost let myself believe the words are about more than just him winning The Rites.

“Promise?”

“I promise.”

Professor Nightwing lifts his hand, and the platform drops beneath me, my chair swinging out over the harbor.

The world turns to terrifying darkness immediately. Water crashes over my knees, my chest, then closes above my head with enough force to tear the breath from me. Every muscle locks, my body trying to gasp despite the water pressed against my face. Panic surges so fast that thought becomes impossible.

I squeeze my eyes shut and count, because that’s what I told myself I would do.

One.

Two.

Three.

The chair continues sinking until the chain finally catches. The sudden stop jerks my shoulders against the restraints. Above me, the surface is a warped silver plane. I can see nothing of the platforms or of Silas. Only the dark column of chain disappearing upward.

Ten seconds.

My lungs already hurt.

At twenty, the cold becomes pain.