"Stay with me," Marcus murmured, his hands steady at my waist. "What's the Reynolds number for laminar flow?"
The familiar equation anchored me. "Less than 2300 for internal flows, though the transition point varies depending on—" My breath hitched as water brushed my chest.
"Keep going." His voice remained gentle but firm. "The equation, James."
"R equals density times velocity times hydraulic diameter divided by dynamic viscosity." The words tumbled out as Marcus's hands shifted, one supporting my shoulders while the other curved beneath my knees.
"Good. Now, we're going to try floating. Like in your dissertation—neutral buoyancy occurs when—"
"The upward buoyant force equals the downward gravitational force." My fingers dug into his bicep as he began lowering me backward. The muscle flexed beneath my grip, solid and reassuring. "Though individual body density variations affect—"
"Breathe." His palm was warm against my spine, fingers splayed to distribute support. A water droplet clung to his eyelashes as he leaned over me. "Let your head rest in my hand. The water wants to hold you up—you only have to let it."
The pool surface rose around my ears, creating a muffled cocoon of gentle splashing and distant echoes. Marcus's face hovered above mine, features soft with concentration.
A rivulet traced the line of his throat, following the curve of his collarbone before disappearing into his chest hair. My analytical mind desperately held onto the details rather than focus on Marcus's body and how it affected mine.
"You're thinking too hard." His thumb brushed my shoulder blade in small circles. "Stop calculating density coefficients and feel the water supporting you."
"How did you know I was—"
"You get this little furrow right here." His free hand touched briefly between my brows, leaving a cool drop of water that tracked toward my temple. "Same one you get analyzingevidence. Try keeping your eyes open—look at me instead of the ceiling."
The overhead lights created a halo effect around his head, beads of water in his hair catching the fluorescent glare like tiny prisms. His hands held me with precisely calculated pressure—enough support to make me feel secure without actually keeping me afloat. The water lapped at my sides in a gentle rhythm, and I realized my body was starting to find its natural balance point, as my research had always claimed it would.
Through the liquid distortion, I watched another droplet gather at the edge of Marcus's jaw. It hung suspended for a moment before falling to join the pool's greater mass, and something about the trajectory triggered a connection in my research-oriented brain.
"The warehouse fires," I blurted, nearly destroying my tentative float. "They form a pattern around—"
"Steady." Marcus's hands tightened fractionally, keeping me afloat. "Share your breakthrough after we get you comfortable in the water."
"But the geographic distribution matches—" Water lapped at my ears, muffling my voice.
"Trust me, the evidence will wait five minutes." Amusement colored his tone. "Focus on how your body wants to float naturally as your beloved physics equations predict."
He was right, of course. Beneath my panic, I sensed the water's inherent buoyancy. Marcus's hands provided minimal support now, only gentle guidance as I found my balance.
"See?" His voice had dropped lower, intimate in the echoing space. "Your body knows what to do."
I managed a shaky nod, transfixed by how the overhead lights brought out golden highlights in his green eyes. Another rivulet rolled down his neck, and this time, I couldn't pretend my increased heart rate was entirely due to water anxiety.
"The fires create a five-point pattern," I explained ten minutes later, reluctantly vertical again but still chest-deep in the pool. Marcus's hand rested lightly on my shoulder, ostensibly spotting me but somehow acting more like an anchor. "Each location corresponds to a major intersection point in your training routes."
"Show me." He guided us toward the pool wall where I'd propped my tablet in its waterproof case. My fingers left wet marks on the screen as I pulled up the map.
"The warehouse here." I traced the location. "It's where your cycling route crosses the Burke-Gilman trail. The gym was your strength training base. This art supply store that burned before the warehouses—you run past it every Tuesday and Thursday."
Sprinkles fell from my hair onto the screen. Marcus leaned closer, his chest brushing my shoulder as he studied the pattern. "And these two? They haven't burnt, right?"
"Right. It's the coffee shop on your recovery run route and the abandoned factory where you typically end your long rides." I fought to keep my voice steady. "They're creating a pentagram effect with your station at the center."
Marcus's breath raised goosebumps on the back of my neck. "You figured this out while floating?"
"Sometimes a change in perspective helps pattern recognition." I gestured toward the map. "They're turning this into a grand performance piece. The timing chips melted at the gym scene weren't random debris."
"They were props." Marcus's voice roughened. "Part of the installation."
"Exactly. They're-" My phone's sharp ring shattered the moment. Sarah's name flashed on the screen.
