They had to act—fast. But though he met Casek’s gaze in that split second, it wasn’t long enough to form a silent plan. Just enough to say they needed one. Still, they’d fought each other enough over the years to be familiar with each other’s moves. If one of them lunged, the other would know what to do. They just needed an opening. A distraction.

A new light appeared behind Lorne, Casek, and Mabena, floating on the water, casting an eerie glow out from the darkness. And a ghostly white apparition manifested itself on the face of the pool. “Unhand her at once!”

Not an apparition—Mamm-wynn. Though he scarcely recognized her in the fierce shadows, he’d know her voice anywhere.

And questions of how she’d gotten there would just have to wait. Her sudden appearance had made Scofield curse and jump away from Libby, and Oliver could feel Telford coil beside him, ready to attack in that direction.

But Scofield wasn’t the one with the weapon. Lorne was, and he didn’t do anything helpful like drop it in shock at Mamm-wynn’s arrival. He took aim at Casek and Mabena. “You’ll not scare me away this time, old woman, no matter what you know that you shouldn’t!”

Oliver hurtled toward them.

“No!” Casek, somehow, had struggled to his feet. He was effectively between Lorne and Mabena, but Lorne had jumped onto another rock, out of Casek’s lunging range. He wouldn’t be able to fight the gun from him.

And a look of utter fury had taken over Lorne’s face.

Time slowed as Oliver drew near, observed, calculated.

Could he reach Lorne before he pulled the trigger? He had to try. Because if he shot Casek, Casek would tumble backward into the pool and, with his arms and legs both bound, sink straight to the bottom. Likely dead before any of them could drag his hulking form back out, especially if Lorne re-aimed.

There was only one thing Oliver could possibly do. He threw himself in front of Casek, still flying at Lorne, praying he’d have enough time to reach him.

Thunder roared through the cave, and lightning flashed. He heard a million screams, a thousand footsteps, felt the sting of a hundred bees in his side as a bullet kissed him. But his arms closed around Lorne and, when Oliver fell toward the water, he dragged the villain with him.

They plunged into the darkness, cold and silky. Lorne thrashed, pushed against him. But it was only fists hitting him, no metallic death. He must have dropped the pistol, either on the rocks or in the water. Which meant Oliver had a fine chance. He shoved Lorne away, downward, and used the momentum to push himself in the opposite direction, toward the faint glow of candlelight flickering on the surface of the pool.