And I was going to find her.
Late afternoon, I found the first sign.
A broken branch at shoulder height, the wood still fresh where it had snapped. A bootprint in a patch of softer snow, partially filled but still visible. She'd passed this way. Recently.
Hope flared in my chest—sharp, almost painful.
I pushed harder.
The trees were sparse now, scattered across rocky slopes that climbed toward distant ridges. The wind had picked up, biting through my layers, and I could see clouds building to the north. Storm coming. The book had warned about late-season weather—unpredictable, deadly, capable of stranding climbers for days.
Lumi knew that. She'd researched everything. She'd known the risks and gone anyway.
What was out there that was worth dying for?
She knew better than to push into the dark. I pushed anyway.
I found where she’d camped at dawn—or what should have been sunrise—and she was already gone. I was still running on adrenaline and kept going.
The light had stopped being a measure of time. In Alaska, the sun was fleeting now, thinning as we approached the long dark.
A figure appeared in the distance, small against the white expanse of a snow-covered slope. Moving steadily, deliberately, heading north toward the mountains that loomed on the horizon.
Lumi.
I knew it was her before I could make out details. Knew it the way I knew my own heartbeat—instinctive, undeniable, bone-deep.
She was too far ahead to catch quickly. The temperature dropping, and pushing through another night would be suicide even for someone who knew what they were doing.
I didn't know what I was doing.
But I knew what I was going to do.
I found a spot behind a rock outcrop, sheltered from the worst of the wind. Set up the emergency bivvy with hands that shook from cold and exhaustion. Crawled inside with all my layers on, the sleeping bag wrapped around me like armor against the creeping freeze.
Somewhere up ahead, Lumi was doing the same thing. Finding shelter. Resting before beginning again. Moving toward whatever had called her into this frozen wilderness.
Tomorrow, I would catch her.
Tomorrow, I would make her explain.
Tomorrow, I would tell her—
What? What could I possibly say that would make any of this make sense?
I followed you into the backcountry because something in my chest told me to.
I broke into a gear closet and stole supplies because I couldn't stand the thought of you being alone.
I don't know what this thing between us is, but I know it's real, and I'm not letting you walk away from it.
None of it was rational. None of it was smart.
But I was past caring about smart. The cold pressed in. The wind howled.
She didn't want me to follow. I followed anyway.
That was the only truth that mattered.
