Page 84 of Nothing But Air

“His loss.” Teague’s thumb traced along her jaw. His eyes dropped to her mouth.

And Eden’s breath caught for a whole different reason.

His face was inches from hers. His other hand still held hers against his chest. The golden light wrapped around them both, and for one suspended moment she thought?—

He stepped back.

Dropped his hands.

The air went slightly cool.

“Lead.” His voice was rougher than before. Strained.

Eden blinked. “What?”

“You’re leading this route. I’ll follow.” Teague moved to the base of the climb, already pulling out the rope. “Come on, Garrison. Show me what you’ve got.”

“You’re serious.”

“As a heart attack. Which, by the way, you’re not having, so stop looking at me like I just asked you to free solo El Capitan.”

She geared up. But her legs were shaky as she approached the wall.

This was insane. She couldn’t lead right now. Couldn’t trust herself to make the right calls, to place protection safely, to?—

“Stop.” Teague’s voice cut through. “Stop thinking and just climb.”

Eden reached for the first hold. Her fingers found the edge automatically, years of muscle memory guiding her hand even as her mind screamed that this was a mistake.

She pulled up. Found a foothold. Placed a cam in an obvious crack—the trigger clicking satisfyingly as the lobes expanded against solid stone. Clipped her rope. Moved higher.

But every placement seemed wrong. Every hold suspect. She tested a feature three times before trusting it with her weight.

“This isn’t working.” She was maybe ten feet up, already exhausted. “I can’t?—”

Suddenly Teague was right behind her.

She hadn’t heard him unclip. Hadn’t registered him starting up the wall. But now he was there—close enough that she could register the warmth of his body at her back, his breath against her ear.

“Stop overthinking.” His voice was low. Intimate. “God gifted you to do this. Now draw a breath and read the rock.”

Eden inhaled slowly. The stone was solid under her hands. Real. Trustworthy.

“That’s it.” Teague’s voice was still close. “What does the rock tell you?”

She looked up. Really looked this time.

Not through a filter of fear and doubt. But with the eyes of someone who’d been reading stone since her teens. Someone who’d spent thousands of hours learning the language of rock—the grain, the texture, the subtle clues that separated bomber holds from death traps.

The route unfolded before her.

Obvious now. A diagonal traverse to a good ledge, then straight up using a finger crack that would take perfect placements. Clean. Solid. Right.

Her hands moved without conscious thought. Place a cam. Clip. Move up. Find the next hold. Trust the features that have been there all along.

The climb opened up above her.

And once again, Eden found the familiar flow state she’d forgotten existed. Not thinking, just moving. Reading and responding. Trusting not herself but the rock.