I claw at his wrist with my free hand. He spins me around and pins me against the railing, forcing me to stare at the water below. Taunting me. He wants me to be terrified by the water, by how high up we are. I’m too busy searching for a safe spot to land. If I fall too close to the wall, I won’t make it.

He leans in so close his lips brush my ear. Dread washes through me. What if killing me is the least of his plans?

“Can you swim?” His words are low and coarse. At first, I’m not sure I heard him correctly.

“Can you swim?” he says, louder.

I don’t understand what he’s doing or why he’s asking or what he’s going to do to me next. I nod once, unable to talk.

“There are concrete blocks against the wall beneath the surface. Jump ten feet out. When you hit the water, swim away from the pier. To the right.”

I hesitate.

I can’t figure out his angle. Is he telling me this, knowing I don’t have a chance, that I won’t make the fall? Or is he giving me hope—a cruel joke—because he has every intention of throwing my body toward the concrete?

He scoops my legs from beneath me and flips me over the railing. I clench the rail, squeezing it, while I fight for balance on a ledge too narrow for my toes. He stands on the other side clutching my wrists with a vicelike grip, steadying me.

The Swarm blurs behind him, forty feet away. I search his face for signs of mockery or malice, something that indicates he’s going to kill me. His eyes are steady, unreadable. The perfect straight line of his lips gives him an almost clinical expression. Beneath his hood, I can just make out a dark brown hairline. Everything about him is off. So much of his face is exposed.

A gust of wind hits me so hard, my eyes flutter. His hands tighten around my wrists.

“You got this,” he says.

I can’t tell whether it’s a question or encouragement. A weird wave of déjà vu flits through me. I’ve seen him before.

“Why are you doing this?”

His voice grows threatening. “Turn and jump.”

I hang over the water. The height appears to have doubled. Ten feet out now seems impossible to reach. My grip becomes sweaty. My pulse thumps erratically. If I don’t jump now, I’ll slip and have no chance of making it.

“Jump or I throw you,” he growls.

Behind him, people begin cheering and jumping with their arms in the air.

“They’ll kill you.”

I look one last time over my shoulder at the spray, the water crashing against the cement wall. I choose my spot. The countdown begins. Three. Two . . .