But Daniel’s voice is static now. White noise. The man in front of me isn’t looking at me the way Daniel did—like I was a problem to be managed, a creature to be caged. Riot is looking at me like I’m a surprise. Like I’m a solution. Like he’s genuinely curious what I’ll do next.
“Yes.”
The word comes out steady. Certain. More certain than I’ve felt in years.
“There’s a crevice at about a hundred and twenty feet.” The plan is forming as I speak, instinct and experience weaving together. “It’s invisible from below—you wouldn’t know it was there unless you’d been inside. Big enough for two people, protected from the elements. If they’re tracking us by ground, they won’t see us once we’re on the wall. If they’re using helicopters, the crevice will give us cover.”
“You want to climb the wall and hide in a crack in the rock.”
“I want to climb the wall, rest in the crevice until the pursuit passes, then finish the ascent and get to your extraction point.” I meet his eyes, and something in his expression makes me bold. “Unless you have a better idea.”
He laughs. Short, sharp, surprised. “Sweetheart, I don’t have any ideas. I’m a decent climber—military training, some recreational stuff—but this? The geometry of this wall... it's beyond me. This is way out of my league.”
“Then follow me.”
The words land between us. A gauntlet. A dare. The kind of thing the old Evie—the careful Evie, the agreeable Evie—would never have said.
But the old Evie was a cage, and I’ve been inside it for twenty-nine years, and I’m done.
Riot’s smile changes. Slower now, less performance. His eyes move over my face like he’s seeing me for the first time. Like everything before this moment was preview, and now the real thing is finally emerging.
“Okay.”
“Okay?”
“You’re the expert.” He spreads his hands, yielding the lead. “Lead the way.”
The descent to the canyon floor takes ten minutes—steep but manageable, a scramble down a rocky slope that my boots handle easily. Riot follows close behind, quiet now, watching me move. I can feel his attention like heat on my skin.
At the base of the wall, I stop. The granite rises above us, impossibly tall, impossibly beautiful. Gray and gold and streaked with dark veins, catching the morning light like it was made to be looked at. To be touched.
My hands find the rock before my brain gives permission. Cool, rough, solid. I can feel the bite of the crystals against my fingertips. The texture I know better than my own heartbeat.
Home, something whispers. This is home.
“The start is the hardest part.” I’m talking to Riot, but I’m also talking to myself. Remembering. “The first fifteen feet are slab—low angle, no good holds. You have to rely on smearing. Trust the friction. Trust that the rubber on your shoes will stick even when it feels like it won't.”
“Smearing. Trust the friction.” His voice is closer than I expected. Right behind me, close enough that I can feel the warmth of his body against the morning chill. “Is that a climbing thing or a life philosophy?”
“Both.” I turn to face him. He's close enough to see the gold flecks in his brown eyes, the thin white scar through hiseyebrow, the way his jaw is shadowed with stubble he didn't have time to shave. “Are you ready?”
“No.” His honesty catches me off guard. He looks at the vertical slab with a grim kind of respect. “I’m terrified. But I’m more terrified of what’s behind us than what’s above us.”
“Good.” I nod once. “That’s the right answer.”
“What’s the wrong answer?”
“That you’re not scared at all. That you think this is going to be easy.” I hold his gaze, willing him to understand. “Climbing isn’t about not being afraid. It’s about being afraid and moving anyway. One hold at a time. One breath at a time.”
Something flickers in his expression. Recognition, maybe. Like I’ve said something that resonates beyond the rock.
“One hold at a time,” he repeats.
“Stay close. Watch where I put my hands and feet. Don’t look down unless you need to check your footing.” The instructions flow out of me—the same things I’d say to a beginner at the climbing gym, except this beginner has a gun on his hip and cartel soldiers hunting him and the most infuriatingly attractive face I’ve ever seen up close.
Focus.
“If you feel yourself slipping, tell me. Don’t try to be brave. Don’t try to power through. Just tell me, and we’ll figure it out together.”
