Air tears into your lungs and you lurch back into the world, drenched in sweat and in water someone has thrown over you. A cold hand is on your arm. Elizabeth. Her face is bloodless, the colour of real fear. You become aware of the room by pieces: people near the drinks half-standing, unsure whether to come closer or give you space, the party still going somewhere behind them, indifferent. The corner feels tighter than it did, as though something has shifted out of true. "How much did you drink?" Elizabeth asks, low and sharp enough to cut through everything else. Your mouth is dry, your thoughts still scattered between where you were and where you are. "Not... not a lot," you manage, and it is a lie even to you, because the number was never the point. The first one was the point. She exhales. Not relief. "Alright. Don't move too fast." Her grip tightens as she gets you up, holding you through the tilt of the room, steering you out of the noise with quiet urgency. "Give us a minute," she says to no one, and then you are in a smaller room with the door half shut and cooler air and your breathing finally slowing. She sits you down and pulls out her phone. "I'm getting you home. You're not staying." "I'm fine." She looks up, and whatever you were going to say dies. "No, you're not. You went somewhere. You weren't answering." She books the ride without waiting for permission. "Straight home. No stops. No 'I'll walk it off.'" "I will." "I mean it." "I know." She studies you a moment longer, then lets out a breath. "I've got you," she says, more to steady you than to convince you. And then, out of nowhere: "Do you want to tell me who John is?" Your heart drops. But she pulled you out of that. You owe her something true. [[Cybercrime/The_Phisherman/Tell her now|Tell her right now]] --- [[Cybercrime/The_Phisherman/Tell her in the car home|Wait until the car]]