Read Chapter 22: The Echo in the Ice

The wind screamed across the crevasse field like a living thing, hurling ice crystals that stung any exposed skin. Luc planted his ice axe with each step, feeling the snow beneath him shift and settle in ways he didn't like. Beside him, Johannes moved with the mechanical precision of a man who'd done this a thousand times, while Bea followed close behind, her breath coming in sharp, panicked bursts.

Orti's voice crackled through the radio. "Twenty minutes. You seeing anything?"

Luc squinted through the whiteout. "Not yet. The tracks—" He stopped. The footprints Paul had left had vanished into a jagged scar in the snow, a dark mouth opening into the mountain's gut. "I've got something."

He approached the edge carefully, dropping to his belly and crawling the last few meters. The crevasse yawned below, its walls glinting with ancient blue ice. And there, fifteen meters down, wedged between two ice shelves like a forgotten toy, was Paul.

"Found him!" Luc shouted over the wind. "He's alive!"

Paul's head moved weakly, his face a mask of frost and blood. One arm was bent at an unnatural angle. The crevasse had swallowed him and nearly finished the job.

Johannes was already uncoiling the rope from his pack. "Ice screws. Two anchors. We'll need you to go down, Luc—you're the lightest."

Luc didn't hesitate. He clipped in, tested the anchors, and began his descent. The crevasse walls closed around him, muffling the wind into a hollow drone. Paul's eyes found his, glassy with shock.

"My leg's broken," Paul rasped. "And I can't feel my hand."

"We're getting you out of here. Just hold on."

Luc reached him, secured a sling around Paul's chest, and signaled for the others to pull. The rope went taut. Paul rose inch by inch, groaning as the harness bit into his ribs. Luc watched him ascend, relief flooding through him—

And then the snow beneath his feet gave way with a sound like tearing canvas.

He fell.

The harness caught him with a violent jerk that slammed the breath from his lungs. He swung against the crevasse wall, his head cracking against ice, and for a moment the world went white and silent. When his vision cleared, he was dangling six meters below where he'd been standing, the rope twisted above him. He'd punched through a snow bridge.

"Luc!" Bea's voice came from far above, thin and panicked.

"I'm okay," he yelled back. "Harness held. But I'm stuck—the rope's wedged against the ice. I can't get enough purchase to climb back up."

He kicked at the wall, trying to find a foothold, but the ice was glassy and his boots skidded uselessly. He was suspended, swaying gently, the cold seeping through his climbing pants. He couldn't reach his jumar. Couldn't unclip to grab it without risking a fall.

"Radio Orti," he called up. "Tell them I need extraction."

Bea's voice crackled through the gale. "The radio's dead. Dropped it when I moved to pull Paul. It fell into the crevasse."

Of course it did.

---

Élise was watching the window when she heard it—a sound that cut through the storm's howl. Faint but unmistakeable. Three whistle blasts, then three more.

Luc's emergency whistle.

She was on her feet before she'd made the decision. Margaux grabbed her arm. "You can't go out there. Your ankle—"

"There's a rope in the shed," Élise said, already pulling on her jacket. "And a pulley system We can rig a mechanical advantage. I've done this before. I can do it again."

"You're not a rescuer anymore," Margaux said, and the words landed like a slap.

Élise turned to face her. "I never stopped being one. I just stopped letting myself know it."

She grabbed the rope and a handful of carabiners, shouldered a pack, and limped out into the storm. The cold hit her like a wall. Her ankle screamed with every step, the ligaments still damaged from the earlier fall, but she pushed through it. She knew these slopes. She'd mapped this terrain years ago, photographing its curves and crevices until they were burned into her memory.

She found Bea and Johannes at the crevasse mouth, Paul lying nearby swaddled in emergency blankets.

"He's still down there," Johannes shouted. "The rope's jammed. We can't move him."

"Get his weight off the rope," Élise said, dropping to her knees and beginning to rig a z-rig pulley system. Her fingers moved automatically, muscle memory taking over. "You two pull on the system. When he's free enough to climb, he'll move."

She directed the setup, her voice carrying over the gale. When the system was locked in place, she gripped the safety line and positioned herself at the lip of the crevasse. Below her, she could see him—dangling, patient, waiting for someone to save him.

"Luc!" she shouted down. "You're going to feel the rope go slack. When it does, climb!"

His face tilted up toward her. Even from this distance, she could see the surprise there. The recognition.

"Élise?"

"Just move!" she yelled. "I didn't come all the way out here to watch you freeze."

Bea and Johannes hauled on the line. The rope twitched, loosened, and Luc began to climb. His movements were steady, practiced, even with his gloves crusted in ice. Élise watched him rise, her heart pounding so hard she could feel it in her throat. When his hand finally closed over the lip, she grabbed his wrist and pulled.

He landed beside her, chest heaving, his face half-frozen and split by a grin.

"You saved my life," he said.

She helped him sit up. "Don't let it go to your head."

He laughed, and it turned into a cough, and then they were both breathing hard in the storm, snow collecting on their shoulders. He reached out and took her hand, his fingers cold through the gloves.

"I was wrong," he said, quiet enough that only she could hear. "About you. About everything."

"Luc, don't—"

"I'm not saying this because you just pulled me from a hole." He squeezed her hand. "I'm saying it because I can't stop saying it in my head, and I'm tired of holding it in."

The radio on Johannes's belt crackled to life. Orti's voice, frantic.

"Base camp. Base camp is triggering. We're seeing an avalanche release on the south face—heading straight for the resort. Élise, Luc—the beacon readings show someone's still down there. The evacuation didn't clear everyone."

Élise's blood turned to ice. She reached for the radio with a hand that had begun to shake.

"Who?"

Orti's voice was apologetic. "The signal belongs to Théo Moreau. It's your brother."