Michael Sullivan: Wintertide

"Royce!" Hadrian called.

His partner did not look up.

"Royce-damn you, look at me!"

Royce continued to stare down into the foaming waters as the wind whipped his black cape like the broken wings of a bird.

"Royce, I can't reach you," Hadrian shouted, extending his arm toward his friend. "You have to help me. You need to reach with your other hand so I can pull you up."

There was a pause.

"Merrick is dead," Royce said softly.

"I know."

"Gwen is dead."

Hadrian paused, "Yes."

"I-I burned Modina alive."

"Royce, goddamn it! That doesn't matter. Please, look at me."

Slowly, Royce tilted his head up. His hood fell away and tears streaked his cheeks. He refused to meet Hadrian's eyes.

"DON'T DO IT!" Hadrian yelled.

"I-I don't have anything left," Royce muttered, his words almost stolen by the wind. "I don't-"

"Royce, listen to me. You have to hang on. Don't let go. Don't you dare let go. Do you hear me? Are you listening to me, Royce Melborn? You have to hang on, Royce. Please…Give me your hand. Give me your hand!"

Royce's head snapped up. He focused on Hadrian and there was a curious look in his eyes. "What-What did you say?"

"I said I can't reach you. I need your help."

Hadrian extended his arm farther.

Royce sheathed Alverstone and swung his body. The momentum thrust his right hand upward. Hadrian grabbed it and lifted.