He slid one hand along the grate until he found the outer frame, then edged them sideways, inch by inch, using the bars against the current. His legs banged the wall. His right foot found the lip, slipped, found it again. He hauled them one more span, twisted, and heaved Lina toward the sloped stone bank where algae made the surface shine.

Hands reached down at last—not from courage, only because he had dragged the emergency close enough for them to touch it. Two people caught Lina under the shoulders. Another took her wrist. They pulled her halfway clear.

Elias tried to climb after her and nearly folded back into the channel when his side gave out. He grabbed a crack in the stone, dragged one knee up, then another, and sprawled onto the bank with water streaming out of his wrap and his breath cutting ragged through clenched teeth.

Lina was on her side, coughing hard enough to shake her whole frame. Canal water spilled from her mouth. She sucked air, choked, coughed again. Elias rolled to her, then had to brace one hand on the stone and wait through a hard, blinding pulse under his ribs before the shaking in his arms eased enough to trust them. He pushed damp hair off her face and checked her pupils, her breathing, the trapped arm.

Elias cupped her face lightly and said, “Look at me.”

Her eyes found him after a second. Unfocused, then sharp. She made a small broken sound and tried to sit up.

“No. Stay down.” He touched her arm more gently. “Can you move your fingers?”