Two of the officers had climbed from the ledge, and they ducked beneath the water, their torch beams circling and shifting as they assessed their task.

“Her sats are fine,” Spence said. He set his own probe on Jem’s finger. “Yours are shite.”

Jem ignored him. “There’s morphine in that ten-mil syringe. She needs it before they cut. I don’t want her hyperventilating.”

“Okay. The rest of HART are five minutes out, but we’ll get it done if Smiffy’s happy.”

“I’m happy,” Smiffy said, treading water and taking the bolt cutters from his colleague. “Tell me when.”

Jem injected a generous dose of morphine into Rosie’s IV. She knew the instant it hit home; Rosie slumped against her, and the motion of the tube lessened. “Now,” she said to Smiffy. “Quick as you can.”

He and his mate plunged out of sight again, and she felt one of them move Rosie slightly, repositioning her leg. There was no caution or indecision. Jem heard the crunch and snap of the metal and Rosie’s weak cry of protest. The tube floated free, snatched away by the current, and the men resurfaced, bringing Rosie with them. Hands reached down, grabbing her coat, her belt, anything they could get a grip on, and she was dragged from Jem’s arms to the relative safety of the ledge.

“Get her on her side,” Spence said. “Easy, mind her leg.”

Left behind and beginning to drift from the wall, Jem jumped when Smiffy clasped her arm, her fists punching the water.

“I’m going to boost you, and Topper’s going to pull you up,” he told her.

She did her best to help them, scrabbling her feet on the bricks as they hoisted her, and managing to sit unaided once they’d deposited her on the ledge. She choked out a lungful of water, took her inhaler as a stopgap, and crawled across to Rosie.

“She’s being a pain in the arse,” Spence said, by way of a greeting.

“Is she now?” Jem smoothed sodden strands of mucky hair from Rosie’s face and kissed her cheek. “Are you misbehaving, Rosie Jones?”

Rosie’s eyes fluttered open, and she pawed at her oxygen mask, stretching its elastic band until Jem relented and lowered it.

“You’re all right?” Rosie asked, her words rolling together like warm toffee.

“I’m fine.” Jem huffed at Rosie’s cross-eyed look of disbelief. “I’ll be fine.” She turned to Spence. “What in the blazes have you given her?”

“Ketamine.” He shrugged. “She kept trying to get up.”

They looked round at the sound of approaching footsteps: HART and Fire, storming in en masse about ten minutes too late. Spence went to meet them, and Jem settled in his spot by Rosie’s side.

“Jem?” Rosie said.

“What?”

“Do I get to keep my metal?”