Page 1 of Nothing But Air

One

Teague Hamilton’s brain was already doing the math his body would hate him for later.

Thirty feet up. Smooth slab with zero protection. And the kid’s left leg was shaking hard enough to see from here—that telltale sewing-machine tremor that meant his muscles were about five minutes from total failure.

“Please tell me you’re not thinking what I think you’re thinking.” Liam Kingsley lowered his binoculars and shot Teague a look.

“Depends. What do you think I’m thinking?”

“Something monumentally stupid.”

Teague grabbed his harness from the gear bag. “Then yeah. Probably.”

The Grand Canyon sprawled beyond them in layers of rust and amber, ancient and indifferent. A mile below, the Colorado River threaded through shadows—a thin turquoise ribbon catching the late-morning light. The scent of dust and sunbaked juniper hung in the air, and the wind sliced through the canyon hard enough to make Teague’s eyes water.

Beautiful place to die, if that’s what this kid was determined to do.

Teague pressed his radio button. “Dispatch, this is Ranger Hamilton. Visual confirmation on the stranded climber. Male subject, probably in his late teens, approximately thirty feet up, small ledge. He’s frozen solid.”

Static crackled. Then Eden Garrison’s voice came through—crisp, professional, and controlled enough to set his teeth on edge. “Copy that, Teague. Gear status?”

She still hadn’t forgiven him for nearly dying in the cave-collapse incident two weeks ago. He’d put his own life at risk, not anyone else’s. So why did she care so much?

Liam took the radio. “Negative on protection, Dispatch. No harness, no rope, no quickdraws. The guy is free soloing.”

A pause stretched across the channel. “Confirm—no safety equipment at all?”

“Just a chalk bag and a death wish.”

Eden’s sigh barely made it through the static. “Another treasure hunter?”

Teague grabbed the radio back. “That’s my guess.”

“It is only the first day of August.” Eden’s voice tightened. “I’m not sure how much more of this we can take. How long has he been up there?”

“Hikers spotted him twenty-five minutes ago. Based on the leg shake, I’d say he’s been locked up at least thirty minutes. Classic epinephrine freeze.”

“Is he responsive?”

Liam cupped his hands around his mouth. “Hey! Can you hear us?”

Nothing. The kid was a statue against the light-colored shale.

Teague keyed the mic. “That’s a negative. Unresponsive to verbal.”

“Copy, Dispatch.” A new voice rolled across the channel—smooth baritone that made Teague’s gut clench. Xander Sullivan. “I approached from the east ridge. Too much loose rock—couldn’t reach him. I’m about fifty yards south of Hamilton’s position now.”

South Rim ranger. Sounded like a movie-trailer narrator. Was it too much to hope that he was bald and missing teeth?

“What’s your assessment, Sullivan?” Eden’s voice softened a bit.

A pause, then golden boy was back. “That slab is 5.8, maybe 5.9. Technical climbing, marginal friction. If his legs shake much more, he’s coming off.”

“Thanks, Xander. Maintain visual.”

“Absolutely. I’m not going anywhere, Eden.”

Teague’s jaw tightened.