Page 1 of Tracked
Chapter 1
Calder
Rule #24: The easiest path is usually a trap.
“On the count of three,” Colby said, grinning just a little too wide. “Three.”
My younger sister scrambled up the rock face, her lean frame and braided brown hair moving up the cragged cliffside with the swift skill of a spider.
She had a half-second head start on me from her method of ... counting. But that was Colby—always trying to outmaneuver, outsmart, and outperform the rest of us, her five older brothers. Maybe that was why her nickname, even now that she’s twenty-four, was the Dynamo.
Digging my hold into the practically sheer rock, I lunged after her, leaving a trail of chalk fingerprints in my wake.
There were higher, more treacherous cliffs buried in our family’s thousand-acre ranch, which was tucked away into the Wyoming Tetons, but this wall, dubbed Free Fall for its paralyzing vertical ascent and sparse holds along the way, was our litmus test.Part of our legacy.
My hands found their familiar rests, pulling me closer to Colby as my eyes scanned for my next hold; they always had to be one step ahead.
Rock climbing was both a physical and mental exercise. The combination of strength needed to hold yourself and a steady mind to calculateyour next safest step made it one of the most important skills Cassius Stone had impressed on his children. And ascending Free Fall was graduation.
Cassius’s rule—one of many—was that his children were allowed to attempt the thirty-foot climb when we turned fifteen. None of us had waited that long, though Colby, of course, snuck out to summit Free Fall at the youngest age of thirteen.
The scar on Colby’s left brow marked her accomplishment; she’d lost her footing on the climb back down, gashing her head before she caught herself and landed on her feet. The injury was nothing compared to the victory, which she’d worn with a wide smile and a slash of blood streaked like a laurel wreath across her forehead.
The Free Fall at Fifteen was one of the few rules Cassius was proud to see his children break.
“Your counting could use some work,” I taunted, my fingers sinking into my next hold as I pulled myself almost level with my sister. I had the natural advantage of height and strength, so my delayed start only attempted to even the playing field.
“Yourclimbingcould use some work,” she countered, and made a quick scramble that put her back in the lead.
We’d all made the Free Fall summit countless times in the last decade—or almost two, in my case. The cliff provided endless courses to the top as nature’s elements evolved the rock with every passing year. The challenge of the topography was never as interesting to Colby as the competition for who could peak the fastest, a record I’d always held and she’d always wanted to claim.
She shifted and stretched above me, desperate to keep her lead. There was only about ten feet left to the top, and while she was moving quickly, I was still going to win.
“You sure about that, Dynamo?”
“Shit.” I heard her rough mutter and the scrape of her shoes as I rose beside her, then above her. There were a few more curses that followed me up the rock face; she’d chosen a shorter path, but the ledges were less reliable at the top, a risk she was now paying for.
Colby’s climbing was just as impulsive as the rest of her, always exploding toward the next step rather than evaluating the best step, which was why I caught up to her with fewer but more well-placed hooks. Climbing, like survival, was a chess game, necessitating thought before action.
I reached the top and hauled myself up over the edge of the cliff. Sitting on the ledge, I smiled down at Colby and wiped my hands together. “I think my technique is still working out pretty well.”
She reached the summit a few seconds later, taking a seat beside me and letting her head fall forward with a heavy groan.
“It was those last holds that screwed me,” she muttered, her irritation settled squarely between her bunched shoulders.
“They’re too shallow on that section of the wall.”
“I know, but it’s the fastest way to the top.”
“Only if it were reliable,” I rumbled and nudged my elbow to hers. “Maybe next time.”
Determination creased her expression; she was already plotting her next attempt, hopefully along a more thoughtful path.
The only way to counteract Colby’s instinct toward impulsiveness was to make her lose. She loathed losing to any of us, so it was the only thing that forced her to stop and proceed with a little more caution the next time around.
Rule #29: Train your siblings as if their lives depend on it, because someday, they might.Cassius didn’t mince words when it came to his rules of survival, especially in this. To go easy on Colby because she was smaller or because she was a girl or because she was our sister gave her an advantage the real world wouldn’t guarantee.
While I made sure the Dynamo didn’t get in over her head, none of us held back during any kind of challenge. If she lost, she learned. And when she learned, she got better.
