He didn’t remember dropping the leather briefcase. He didn’t feel the polished stones of the terrace under his bare feet as he kicked off his shoes. All he knew—viscerally, instinctively—was that his eight-year-old son was in the deep end of the pool and the cast on his left arm was dragging him under.

The world narrowed to blue.

Blue water, too still for a child who couldn’t swim properly with one arm.

Blue sky overhead, indifferent.

Blue lips beginning to part in a silent scream as Jasper’s face slipped beneath the surface.

Only one image cut through the blue and burned itself into Elliot’s memory: Sabrina’s hands on his son’s back, pushing.

Not guiding.
Not supporting.
Shoving.

He hit the water a fraction of a second after Jasper disappeared.

The cold punched the air out of his lungs, but fear shoved it back in. His suit trousers wrapped around his legs like seaweed, but he kicked harder. Chlorine stung his eyes as he opened them underwater.

There.

A tangle of pale limbs and white fiberglass cast, sinking in slow motion.

Elliot lunged, closing the distance in three powerful strokes. He grabbed his son around the waist, fingers slipping once on slick skin before locking around the boy’s ribs.

Jasper’s body jerked—tiny, panicked movements. Bubbles fled his mouth in a frantic stream as Elliot turned them both and drove upward.

They broke the surface with a gasp that ripped at their chests.

“Got you,” Elliot rasped, tucking Jasper against him and reaching for the pool’s edge.

The boy clung with his good hand in a death grip, nails digging into Elliot’s shoulder. His casted arm flailed before Elliot pinned it gently.

“It’s all right,” he said, pushing them toward the steps. “I’ve got you, buddy. Breathe. Just breathe.”

He could feel Jasper’s heart pounding like a trapped bird.

He could feel his own heart pounding even harder.

He could also feel Sabrina’s eyes on him.

When he turned, lungs burning, she stood exactly where he’d seen her—at the pool’s edge, arms folded.

Not reaching for a towel.
Not calling for help.
Not saying Jasper’s name.

Just staring.

No fear.
No remorse.

Only a tight, irritated line across her mouth—like Jasper had inconvenienced her.

Something in Elliot snapped.

He hauled Jasper out of the pool, water streaming off them both. The boy coughed and curled inward, gasping.

Elliot wrapped a towel around him, barely noticing his own soaked clothes.

He looked up at Sabrina.