Page 136 of Nothing But Air

“Yes, you can. Take a breath. Find your feet. I’m not letting go.”

He heard her scrambling below. Gasping breaths. Boots scraping stone.

The weight on the rope eased.

“Okay.” Her voice shook. “I’m on.”

“See? Nothing to it.”

“I hate you.”

“No, you don’t.”

“No. I don’t.” A pause. “Keep climbing.”

They climbed higher. The passage opened slightly but grew steeper—approaching vertical. Teague’s arms burned. His ribs screamed. Every breath was glass.

Eden slipped again.

This time she gave him more warning—a quick cry a few seconds before the rope snapped tight.

His shoulders burned as he took her weight—feet braced against opposing walls, every muscle straining.

“I can’t do this.” Eden’s voice broke. “I’m going to pull us both down.”

“No, you’re not.” He held firm despite the fire in his arms. “Eden. Look at me.”

She tilted her head up. Face pale in his headlamp beam. Tear tracks cutting through dust.

“You said you trust me.”

“I do.”

“Then trust me now. I know you’re hurt. I know you’re scared.” His voice was steady. Certain. “But I’m going to lead you to a rock that is higher than I am.”

Her blue eyes stayed locked his.

“You just have to follow.”

“Teague—”

“‘From the ends of the earth I call to you, I call as my heart grows faint; lead me to the rock that is higher than I.’” He smiled despite the burning in his arms. “That’s what we’re doing right now. Trusting the Rock. Not me. Not you. But God.”

He reached down with one hand, his other arm screaming as it took full weight. “And He’s got us both.”

Eden stared up at him. Tears streaming.

“Come on, Eden, you can do this. We can do this. God is with us. Trust that. And trust me.”

Something shifted in her expression—fear giving way to something else.

Something like hope.

Something like faith.

Trust.

Trust in Teague. Trust in God.