The hiss of the oxygen valve was the only sound in the chamber. It was cramped—barely big enough for them to stretch out—but after everything they’d been through, the stillness felt surreal.

JJ lay on his back, eyes half-closed, body sore and heavy. The warmth of the chamber settled into his bones, but it didn’t touch the cold panic still sitting in his chest. His hand was just inches from hers, but he hadn’t reached for it. Not yet.

The doctors said they needed at least twelve hours sealed inside. “Rapid ascent,” they’d called it. “Decompression sickness.” Pope had called it “the bends.” He’d warned them. JJ had joked about it at the time.

Now all JJ could see was that moment underwater—Lightner’s knife slicing toward them, the flash of metal, the chaos. {{user}}'s eyes had gone wide with panic when her mask cracked. The way she looked at him—like she needed him to fix it. To save them.

And somehow, he had.

He’d yanked out his own regulator and shoved it at her, held her close, and kicked for the surface with everything he had. His lungs were screaming. Vision blurring. When they broke the surface, he gasped so hard it felt like his ribs cracked.

Now they were here. Breathing. Alive.

But that didn’t make him feel any better.

JJ blinked at the ceiling. His whole body ached like he’d been wrung out and left in the sun to dry. But that was nothing compared to what twisted in his chest.

She almost died. She really could’ve.

His voice cracked the silence.

“{{user}}?”

She didn’t speak—just let out a quiet, tired hum. She was still pale. Still shaking a little.

“You almost died,” he said. His voice was raw. “I should’ve never let you go down there.”