Page 71 of Nothing But Air

Worth it. Whatever happens next—that look was worth it.

Teague tied in, checked his knot twice, and started up.

The slab was delicate. Completely different from the crack climbing he’d been doing all morning. He balanced on small edges, trusting his feet, placing tiny cams in the horizontal breaks Eden had spotted.

The protection went in adequately but not bomber.

The rock under his hands had a slightly chalky texture. Small crystals of mineral deposits marked where moisture had seeped through.

Should have gone with the crack.

But he kept climbing. Smearing his feet on subtle features. Crimping small edges. The sun beat down on his shoulders.

He placed another cam in a horizontal gap—this one went deeper. Stronger.

See? It’s fine. You’re being paranoid.

They were making great time. Marcus was holding up. The team was working together.

About forty feet up, the holds improved. Better edges. A solid-looking foot placement. The cave entrance loomed just above, dark and promising, maybe hiding the answer to everything they’d been searching for.

Almost there.

He reached up for what appeared to be a good jug. A bomber hold. The kind you could hang your whole body weight on without a second thought.

His fingers wrapped around it.

He tested it with a light pull.

Solid.

He committed his weight—and the hold exploded under his hand.

Teague was falling.

And it was all Eden’s fault.

Time fractured. Each second stretched into an eternity as she watched—helpless, frozen, her fingers locked around the rope that couldn’t save him.

Teague’s body pitched backward as gravity claimed him. His right hand clutched at air and chunks of crumbling limestone—the jug that had looked so solid disintegrating beneath his fingers.

His feet lost the wall.

For one suspended heartbeat, he hung airborne. Arms windmilling. Green eyes wide.

Eden’s stomach dropped.

He fell fast—five feet, ten feet—the rope above him going slack, snaking through the air in loose coils.

Then the rope snapped tight on the cam he’d placed three body lengths back.

The metallic click of the cam’s trigger echoed impossibly loud in the sudden silence.

The rope caught.

Teague’s fall arrested with a jolt that punched through Eden’s own chest—a sympathetic impact that drove the air from her lungs. His body slammed into the slab wall. His elbow connected with a sharp protrusion of rock.

But it wasn’t over.