[The River Beneath the Bridge—Afternoon—Continuation]
Cold swallowed Levin whole—not water, but weight.
The river struck him like a clenched fist, stealing the air from his lungs as his body plunged beneath the surface. Light fractured above him into broken silver shards, twisting and stretching until even the memory of the sky dissolved. The current seized him, dragging him sideways, down, and away.
Stone scraped his shoulder; pain flared, but Levin was not weak.
He forced his body to move, muscles remembering what panic tried to erase. He kicked, angled his torso, and fought the pull with trained precision. His arms cut through the water, lungs screaming as he pushed upward—then something caught him.
His legs jerked violently.
Levin twisted, looking down, and saw it—thick strands of river plant, dark and sinewed, coiling around his calves like living chains. They tightened as the current pulled, anchoring him cruelly to the river's bed.
"No—" The word left him as bubbles.
