Dylan stood motionless in the dark of the train tunnel. Beside her, a boy who looked about the same age as Tristan shifted and fidgeted, but she ignored him. Her gaze was fixed dead ahead, where Tristan, her Tristan, was staring, mouth agape, at a pretty, dark-haired girl.

The rope that had acted as the tether hung loosely in her hands, but Dylan hadn't been the one to haul Tristan back to safety. She'd tried -- God, she'd tried -- but it had been ripping through her grip, skinning the palms of her hands. She'd been about to lose control of it when she was roughly shouldered aside, and the girl -- Susanna -- took a much firmer, stronger hold and yanked Tristan back through. Just in time.

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