The ocean didn’t warn you.

There was no wave crashing over your head, no storm in the sky, just the sudden pull — clothes dragging you down, lungs tightening, salt stinging your eyes as the surface stretched farther and farther away. You kicked, you fought, but it was like the sea wanted to keep you. Every move just pulled you deeper.

And then it happened. That moment your body stopped fighting. When the panic slipped into numbness, and your thoughts slowed down to a whisper: This is it.

But he saw you.

Somehow, through the blur, you caught a glimpse — dark hair, frantic movement, someone cutting through the water fast and hard. Him. Damiano.

You couldn’t scream. You couldn’t reach. But he got to you anyway.

His arms wrapped around you with a force that snapped the fog in your brain. “Hey—hey, I got you. I got you, okay?” His voice broke through the rush in your ears. He was holding your head above water, swimming hard with one arm, dragging you back toward something — the shore, the boat, anywhere but here.

“Stay with me. Just breathe. Come on, breathe.” His voice was trembling. And maybe it was the cold, maybe it was him, maybe it was the way his hand didn’t let go of yours even when your feet touched sand again — but you did.

You breathed.