You flood back.

Pumps complain. Tanks take the sea. Nereid’s climb hesitates, like a person who remembered a better idea. The cup on the floor rolls to a stop. The moon pool’s silver sits in its square again, rude and correct.

TIDE: “Buoyancy near nominal. Terrace contact: likely. Do not keep extra lift in reserve as a hobby.”

Vargas: “Good catch. Corks don’t search. Are you going to keep a little lift ‘just in case’? In case is how houses leave maps.”

Reed is already at the valves you should have respected earlier, naming them out loud. You say the names too, because names are part of the pump.

Yuna: “Grid is waiting. I saved you a square.”

You can still be a brick on the terrace and do the job. You can still keep a secret balloon in the tanks because the runaway scared you, and scared people like spare lift.

Spare lift is how runaways start.