Wrong question. "Don't panic. We're working on it," he tells her. The quickest way out is going to be the pier, and he aims himself in that direction, working to keep himself on top of the waves like a duck.

He needs her to relax and not fight, and his instinct is music: he hums a little under his breath, something mindless and soothing, trying to come across relaxed himself.

"What's your name?" Wren asks her as he heads backwards toward the pier.