Tom's soft smile has turned to something far more sinister, the hand on Randvi's shoulder a little too tight. This is it, he thinks, and feels the rush of exhilaration. Randvi is beginning to see the parts she doesn't like. To mere her other selves.

Randvi is not Alan--not an artist in that sense, but someone who ebbs and flows like the tide and is just as unrelenting. Tom breathes in, readying himself, knowing he has to be careful. He respects Randvi enough for that--there's no point in pushing someone if they can't bounce back.

"Let it out," he encourages. He keeps his voice soft but his words and tone are firm, subconscious instruction more than a simple suggestion. "I'll pull you right back if you need it." A beat. "You won't."

The water continues to flow while the battle rages on, shimmering in the moonlight, showing Randvi's reflection. Tom has a pebble in his free hand. How he got it, where he picked it up, those are all unimportant to the narrative he's trying to sow, logic working in a way that he's very good at, whispering what he's doing in Randvi's ear so she'll pick up on it in her altered state. When he throws that pebble into the river, the ripples warping her reflection.

"You're changing into her anyway."