She studied him, deciding whether he meant it. Then she went on.

The stone of the crossing was wet from spray. Elias noticed that and should have said something. He noticed the slight film on the surface, the way Lina’s loose sandals were wrong for traction, the way the current below ran harder than it looked because the channel walls dropped smooth and sheer. He noticed all of it and still let himself think there was time, that if she slipped one of the others nearby would react, that a society this managed would not leave simple danger unattended.

Lina stepped onto the middle of the crossing, turned half back toward him, and pointed toward the far wall. “See? The red there too—”

Her foot skated.

One instant she was balancing with both arms wide, surprise plain on her face. The next she was gone, dropped sideways into the racing gray-green water with a slap that vanished under the noise of the channel.

Several people cried out, but softly, as if they had seen a dish break across the park. A man at the rail took one step forward and stopped. A woman covered her mouth and looked around as if waiting for a tone, a door, a system to tell her what happened next.

Elias stood still for one stupid second.

Not from fear. From disbelief so sharp it hollowed him out. He looked at the faces around him and saw not malice, not shock, not even cowardice. Only confusion. Mild, helpless confusion.

Then Lina’s hand broke the surface downstream and vanished again.

He ran.