Read Chapter 21: The Decision of Reluctance

The refuge door slammed against the wall as Luc burst back inside, snow crusting his beard, his breath coming in white bursts. Orti followed, shaking his head before Luc could even speak.

“Nothing,” Luc said. “The tracks end at a pressure ridge. Nothing beyond but white and more white.”

Élise stood from where she’d been crouched by the stove, Margaux beside her. The other tourists huddled near the back wall, blankets over their shoulders, eyes hollow.

“Then we wait,” Élise said. “The storm’s been building all afternoon. The barometer—”

“Dropped twelve millibars in the last hour.” Luc pulled off his gloves, fingers red and shaking. “If we wait, we’re not searching tomorrow. We’re digging out a body.”

“You don’t know that.”

“I know that crevasse field. I know how fast a man loses heat when he’s wedged in ice. I know the difference between a rescue and a recovery, Élise.” His jaw tightened. “I’ve made that call before. I won’t make it again.”

Margaux stepped forward. “Then take me. I know the terrain from the maps. I can—”

“No.” Luc’s voice was flat. “You’re needed here.”

“Then who?” Élise’s words came out sharper than she intended. “You and Orti just spent two hours out there. You’re exhausted. You want to go back into that blind with two more bodies to manage?”

“Three more,” Luc corrected. “Klaus and Marta across the ridge have radio contact. They’ll keep the group together if something happens.”

“Klaus and Marta.” Élise stared at him. “The same Klaus and Marta who’ve been watching us through the window like they’re cataloguing our weaknesses? You trust them enough to divide our strength?”

“I trust them enough to hold a position.” Luc moved past her toward the gear pile, already pulling ropes from his pack. “That’s all I need right now.”

Élise followed, grabbing his arm. His skin was cold through his jacket. “Luc. Stop. Think for one second.”

He turned. She saw the exhaustion behind his eyes, the same stubborn set to his jaw as the day he’d tried to carry both their packs up the Aiguille du Midi. The day she’d told him she couldn’t keep up, and he’d said he didn’t care. The day she’d left anyway.

“I am thinking,” he said quietly. “I’m thinking about a man who’s out there alone. I’m thinking about a husband who came to this mountain for answers and found only ice and silence. I’m thinking about what happens if I do nothing and we find him in spring, and I have to tell his wife—” he glanced at Margaux, then back at Élise, “—that I chose to wait.”

Élise released his arm. Her ankle throbbed beneath the wrapping, and lower, deeper, her heart hammered in that familiar wrong rhythm. She hated it. Hated that the weakness she’d spent years hiding now sat between them like a physical weight.

“I’m not saying we don’t search,” she said measuredly. “I’m saying the search is safer with a plan. Wait for the front to pass. Even two hours would—”

“Two hours is death in those crevasses.” Luc’s voice cracked. “Paul is forty-three. He’s wearing a down jacket, not a rescue suit. He has no bivvy sack, no stove, no—” he broke off, breathing hard. “I know what it looks like when someone freezes, Élise. I’ve seen it. I won’t let it happen while I stand in a warm room and check a barometer.”

The silence stretched. Margaux looked between them, her mouth pressed thin. One of the older tourists coughed.

Élise saw it then. The shape of the choice in front of her. She could argue, could push back, could make him stay and resent her for the rest of their lives—or risk his life and resent her for longer. But she also knew Luc. Knew that once he’d made his mind up on the mountain, the mountain didn’t change it.

“Two of the fit ones go with you,” she said finally. “Johannes and Bea. They’re strong, they’re calm, and Johannes worked on a trail crew in Chamonix. He knows rope systems.”

Luc blinked. Whatever argument he’d prepared died unspoken.

“You’ll take the GPS, the thermal blanket, and the emergency transceiver. You check in every twenty minutes. If you miss two check-ins, I go for help over the ridgeline regardless of storm conditions.” She met his eyes. “I’m not losing you to that field, Luc. Not again.”

Something moved behind his face. “Again?”

“You know what I mean.”

He held her gaze for a long moment. Then, slowly, he nodded. “Okay.”

He turned to gather Johannes and Bea, explaining the route in clipped French. Margaux stepped closer to Élise, voice low. “You’re letting him go.”

“I’m not letting him do anything. He’s going.” Élise watched him coil the rope over his shoulder. “I’m just making sure he comes back.”

“And if he doesn’t?”

Élise didn’t answer. She walked to the window and watched him, Johannes, and Bea disappear into the white roar of the storm. The world folded around them. Gone.

Orti moved to her side, his own leg raw from the earlier trek. “He’s stubborn as you.”

“Worse.” She pressed her palm against the cold glass. “He never learned when to stop.”

“Did you?”

She shot him a look. He shrugged, unbothered.

“You think you should be the one out there,” Orti said. “You think if your body weren’t failing you, you’d be the one leading the search. Making the calls. Saving the day.”

“It’s not about saving the day. It’s about—” She stopped.

“Being the one who saves the days.” Orti nodded slowly. “I understand. I read the alpine logbook at the refuge up the valley. You’ve got a reputation in these mountains, Élise. More than one.”

Élise turned. “What are you saying?”

Orti met her eyes. “I’m saying there’s a difference between being needed and needing. And you’ve spent a lot of years making sure you’re never on the wrong side of that equation.” He moved toward the stove. “But Luc out there, carrying the rope he thinks he’s carrying—that’s not about you.”

Élise stared at the snow sweeping past the window. She checked her watch. Twenty minutes. Then another twenty. The stove crackled.

The wind screamed.

And somewhere under the white silence, she heard the echo of her own fear in the shape of what she couldn’t do.