“Emma!”
My heart jerks so hard it hurts. I lift my head. My breath catches.
“Emma! Can you hear me?”
I choke on a sob, relief crashing through me so fast it steals my breath.
“Alex!” I scream back into the darkness. “Alex, I’m here!”
Finally, finally, he heard me. And the moment I shout his name, the terror gripping my chest loosens, just a fraction.
He’s here.
He’s here and he’s coming for me.
For the first time since the phone slipped from my fingers, I believe I might actually make it out of this alive.
A shape appears through the mist. A dark blur at first, then a form, then Alex, picking his way down the slope with careful, deliberate steps. There’s a rope secured around his waist, the other end disappearing up into the clouds behind him. He looks like something carved out of the storm itself, steady and unshakeable.
When he finally reaches me, he drops to his knees, breath coming hard, eyes scanning every inch of me.
“Emma.” His voice cracks around the edges. “Are you hurt?”
I shake my head, then nod, then shake it again because I don’t even know. My whole body is trembling, and my fingers are numb and all I can manage is, “I dropped the phone. I’m cold.” My voice breaks, humiliatingly fragile. “I’m sorry. I’m so sorry.”
He’s already shrugging off his pack. “Don’t apologise. You did exactly the right thing staying put.”
I want to tell him I didn’t stay put, that I nearly slid straight off the hillside, that I’m the reason I’m in this mess, but the words knot in my throat. Tears spill again, hot and sudden. I hate it. I hate that I’m crying, that I look helpless, that I feel like a damsel in every terrible sense of the word.
He presses a warm, gloved hand to my cheek, gentle despite the cold rain lashing both of us. “Hey. You’re okay. I’ve got you.”
Something inside me gives way at that. A soft, stunned collapse.
He pulls a short rope from his kit, looping it around my hips with practiced movements, creating a makeshift harness. His fingers move quickly but carefully, checking and double-checking the knots even as the wind shoves at us. He ties the free end to his own waist and gives the connection a firm tug to test it.
“Right,” he says, meeting my eyes. “We’re connected now. You’re not going anywhere without me.”
The words hit deeper than he probably means them to.
He shifts closer, bracing himself on the slope. “I’m going to help you up. Slow steps. You don’t need to look behind you. Just look at me.”
I nod, though my throat is tight and my legs feel like jelly. He slides one arm around my waist and the other under my elbow, lifting gently until my boots find purchase. My body shakes with the effort, but he’s solid beside me, every movement sure, deliberate, protective without caging me in.
“That’s it,” he murmurs. “You’re doing perfectly.”
A ridiculous, watery laugh bubbles out of me at that. “Perfect isn’t exactly how I’d describe me right now.”
He gives me a look that warms me even through the storm. “Perfect is exactly how I’d describe you right now.”
My breath catches. Another wave of tears threatens but these are different. Softer. Less panicked.
Step by step we climb, the rope between us taut and reassuring. He shields me from the worst of the wind with his body, guiding me with small touches at my back, my elbow, my hand. The mist thins just enough to reveal a shape above us.
A man, tall and broad-shouldered, bracing himself against the gusts.
Alex lifts his voice. “Emma, that’s Nick. He’s with my team.”
Nick crouches as we reach him, taking the weight of the rope. His hand lands lightly on my arm to steady me. His hood is soaked through, rain dripping off the edge.
