I scramble onto the ledge over the railing and prepare to throw the climbing rope, but Nicolas has already freed himself. A few strong strokes, and he’s safe.

Now it is my turn. Nicolas gestures for me to jump farther than he did, which I am already calculating. He swims alongside the ship as I crouch, check my trajectory and then throw myself from the side of the ship with as much force as I can.

I hit the water. It is not a dive—that would be unsafe—but rather an awkward jump, and I plunge under the surface. The ship’s wake yanks at me, firm and insistent, but I focus on getting my head above water. Fingers touch mine. I take two long strokes in that direction, until I am certain I am free of the wake. Then I let Nicolas take my hand in a quick squeeze.

“You are well?” he says.

I nod, and we begin the swim for shore. As strong a swimmer as I am, even without my injured arm, Nicolas would be stronger. He insists on staying behind me, which is infuriating but, yes, also very considerate. I swim as quickly as I can for the rocky shore, my teeth chattering, fingers going numb.

Then my leg strikes sharp rock. It’s the same leg that was shot, right above the same place. I gasp, and my mouth fills with water, and I begin to choke. Between the pain and the choking, my mind blanks, and I flail.

Something grabs me, cold as ice, and I flail again, only to realize it’s Nicolas. He holds me above water. The night air, pleasantly cool before, is like being taken from an ice bath and plunged into ice itself. I convulse but force myself to breathe.

When he tries to swim with me under his arm, I wriggle out and continue on. My arms barely move now. I no longer feel the pain in my leg, because I no longer feel my leg. My perfect strokes have turned into the flails of a drowning soul, and it takes all my energy to propel my dead-weight arms up and over my head. Then my knee hits something else, and I brace for the pain. None comes, and I presume that is the lack of feeling, but then I realize my other knee is also touching something.

I am on sand. I am nearly at the shore, yet I can barely feel the ground under my knees, and when I put my hand down, I only know it is touching the earth when it stops moving. My entire body is numb, and yes, I panic at the thought of that, of the effect such cold can have, but I force myself to crawl on my numb limbs until I am out of the water.

Nicolas is right behind me, and as I sit there, teeth chattering, he wraps his arms around me. At first, it is like being held by a dead man. Then I feel the barest flicker of warmth. With icy hands, he moves mine up under his armpits, where that warmth leaps out, a flame in the ice.