Page 135 of Nothing But Air

“That’s manipulative.”

“That’s strategic.” He pulled her to her feet. “We’re going up together. We’re getting out of this. Then we’re sending help for Marcus.”

“I can’t climb with this wrist.” She shook her head. “I’ll fall, and without anchors?—”

“I’ll catch you.”

He was already threading rope through both of their harnesses.

“Teague, no.” Eden grabbed at the rope with her good hand. “If I fall, I’ll take you with me.”

“Then don’t fall.”

“That’s your plan? Don’t fall?”

“It’s a work in progress.” His hand covered hers on the rope. “I’m not leaving any other way. So the question is simple. Do you trust me?”

She looked at him for a long moment. The fear. The doubt. The weight of everything between them—every harsh word, every turned back, every moment she’d pushed him away.

Then, slowly, she nodded. “With my life.”

Something cracked open in Teague’s chest. Something that had been locked tight since she’d walked away from him on that plateau.

“And I trust you with mine.” He leaned in and kissed her. Soft. Certain. Not the kiss he wanted to give her—not with Kyle hunting them and Marcus injured and an impossible climb ahead.

But a promise.

“Get a move on.” Marcus muttered from the ground.

Teague laughed despite everything. “We’re coming back for you.”

“I know. Now go save the day. I’ll just be here. Bleeding.” Marcus managed a weak smile. “Go.”

Teague started up first, headlamp cutting through darkness. The passage was tight—and angled steeply. The air was close. Damp. Smelling of stone and age.

“How you doing?” he called down.

“Wrist hurts. Walls are closing in. Pretty sure I saw a spider.” Her voice was strained but steady. “Other than that, fantastic.”

“That’s the spirit.”

“I wasn’t being spirited. I was being sarcastic.”

“With you, it’s the same thing.”

They climbed in silence for several minutes, the passage growing steeper. Teague’s ribs screamed at every movement, but he pushed through—one hold at a time, one breath at a time.

Then Eden slipped.

“Teague!”

The rope snapped tight as her weight hit it—sudden, wrenching. Teague braced himself against the narrow walls, jamming his body into the gap.

Pain shot through his ribs. White-hot. Blinding.

“I’ve got you!” His voice echoed. “Find your feet!”

“I can’t—my wrist?—”