The Year I Stopped Being His novel Chapter 216

Wyatt took a deep breath, actively reminding himself that punching people was illegal.

Josh guided him to the edge of the ice hole and secured the safety tether around his waist.

"Drop down to a hundred and fifty feet and hold for one minute. If anything feels wrong, tug the line, and I'll pull you right up."

Wyatt stared down into the terrifying, pitch-black abyss and swallowed hard. "You owe me big time for this!"

With that, he plunged in with a heavy splash.

Water sprayed upward, hitting the ice and instantly solidifying into frozen beads. Josh dropped to his knees at the edge, gripping the tether tightly as his eyes locked onto the depth gauge...

A hundred and fifty feet. Stop.

The rope went taut.

One minute. Sixty seconds. He counted down before feeding the line again.

Then three hundred feet, four hundred and fifty feet...

Josh's lips were turning a sickly shade of purple, his breath forming thick, white clouds in the freezing air.

Meanwhile, inside the cabin.

Sloane was fast asleep. She was cocooned tightly in her blanket, her head tilted to the side, her breathing shallow and even. This time, there were no dreams of her mother, no Garrison, and no Archie. There was nothing at all.

She was simply sleeping, looking like a weary traveler who had walked to the ends of the earth and finally found a moment to rest.

Garrison stood by the window, his gaze locked on the endless darkness outside.

Down at the ice hole, Wyatt was bobbing up and down. Josh was kneeling on the ice, managing the tether and obsessively logging data, while the professor and Diego crouched over the sonar monitor, engrossed in their work.

A figure approached from a distance, footsteps so light they were practically silent.

It was Cassandra.

"Sir."

She came to a halt beside Garrison, her voice calm and impeccably polite.

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