Together, we started to climb.
Chapter fifteen
The altitude hit James harder than I'd expected.
I'd adjusted within the first hour—Gregor had taken me above ten thousand feet enough times that my body knew how to compensate. But James was struggling. I could see it in the gray tinge to his skin, the way he paused between steps to catch his breath, the slight tremor in his hands when he reached for a hold.
He hadn't complained once. That worried me more than if he had.
We'd been climbing for six hours. The conditions were manageable—cold but not brutal, wind steady, visibility clear enough to navigate. Standard late-season weather. Nothing I hadn't trained for.
The question was whether James could handle it.
"Here." I pointed to a rocky shelf that offered minimal shelter from the wind. "Twenty minutes. Eat something."
James dropped onto the rock without argument, which told me more about his exhaustion than any complaint would have. He'd kept pace with me all morning, never falling behind, never asking to slow down. Stubborn. So goddamn stubborn.
"You're doing well," I said, settling beside him.
"Liar." But he smiled when he said it. "I feel like I've been run over. Repeatedly."
"That's the altitude. Your body's working harder to oxygenate. It'll get easier once you acclimatize."
"When's that happen?"
"Usually takes a few days."
"Great." He accepted the energy bar I handed him and ate mechanically, staring out at the white expanse below us. "It's beautiful up here. Terrible. But beautiful."
I followed his gaze. The world stretched out beneath us—peaks and valleys, snow and rock, the vast indifferent wilderness that didn't care whether we lived or died. I'd seen views like this a hundred times. They never got old.
"Gregor used to say the mountains don't hate you," I said. "They just don't notice you. It's not personal."
"That's somehow worse."
We sat in comfortable silence, and I let myself feel it—the shift from last night, the new weight of what existed between us. The hum had settled into something steady, no longer desperate but present. When our eyes met, I saw my own awareness reflected back.
We hadn't talked about what happened in the tent. Some things didn't need words.
"How much further?" James asked.
I checked the terrain against the map I'd memorized. "The ridge I need is about four miles. The route gets steeper from here. More technical."
"You keep saying 'I need.' Not 'we.'"
"Because I don't know what we're walking into." I met his eyes. "I told you—there's something I have to do. Something I can't explain yet. When we get close, I might need you to wait."
"Lumi—"
"Not negotiating."
He held my gaze, and I watched him wrestle with it—his stubbornness fighting against the trust he'd promised. Finally, he nodded.
"Okay. But I'm not leaving this mountain without you."
"Fair."
We finished our break and started climbing again.
