Iman's arm hasn't vanished. It's still there, the center of a hole in the world that is yawning open around it. She barely hears her friend's objections, too busy staring in horror at the shifting world beyond the tear. It defies any description besides wrong. But then Iman shoves Rush away, and Greta's gaze snaps back to her, confused and frightened - why on earth would she shove him away?

And then, as if it was merely waiting for Rush to let go, the Rift sucks Iman in. Greta cries out in alarm. Some distant part of her wonders if it's taking Iman home, if it's selfish of her to object, but no. The horrible, shifting mouth remains open, allowing them both to see inside, see what it's doing to her. This is a punishment. This is torture.

This cannot continue. She can't lose Iman, she can't, she can't.

Rush throws himself through before Greta can move, clamping a hand around Iman's arm and grunting in pain. The other flails back toward her, and she doesn't need him to order her to grab hold. Her hand seizes around his wrist as a sudden, sharp pain lances up her arm. She couldn't let go of him if she wanted to. Just as well. She will not lose them - not either of them. Not after all Rush has done for her, all Iman is to her. Greta grabs hold with her other hand, digs in her heels, and pulls with all her might.