Page 46 of Nothing But Air

Focus on the next hold. The next move.

Slowly, her breathing steadied. The fear didn’t disappear—it hovered at the edges like a shadow—but it wasn’t paralyzing her anymore.

She was climbing.

Really climbing.

Not simply going through the motions but solving a problem. Using her skills for someone who needed her. Reading the rock, calculating the sequence, trusting her body to execute what her mind had planned.

Something warm spread through her chest. Not quite confidence yet.

But maybe the beginning of it.

The sun hammered the back of her helmet, sweat trickling down her temples. The rope whispered through her belay device—a soft hiss of nylon on metal that had once been the soundtrack of her life.

She cleared the crux, pulled over a small overhang, and found a solid stance on a ledge wide enough for an anchor.

“Okay.” She keyed her radio. “I’m about six feet above you and slightly to your right.”

Teague looked terrible.

His face had gone pale beneath his tan, forearms trembling with the effort of holding position. His green eyes were tight with strain—and something else. Embarrassment, maybe. The particular humiliation of a rescue professional needing rescue.

Welcome to the club, Hamilton.

The desert sun beat down on them both, heat radiating off sandstone in shimmering waves. Below, the canyon dropped away in broken rock and rough edges.

“Here’s what we’re going to do.” Eden clipped a locking biner to her anchor, threaded rope through it. “I’ve built a bomber anchor. I’m sending a rope across on a carabiner. When it reaches you, clip it to your harness belay loop—not the gear loops, the belay loop. That’ll give you a second line for a pendulum traverse to my route.”

She met his eyes across six feet of empty air.

“Small movements. Test every hold before you commit weight. If anything gives, you’ll swing but you won’t fall far. I’ve got you.”

“Eden, I’m sorry.” His voice was rough. Strained. “I should have listened?—”

“Save it.” Firm, but not unkind. “Right now I need you focused on moving. We can debrief later.”

And by debrief, I mean tell you I told you so.

She watched his face—the moment he swallowed his pride and nodded, accepting her authority. Something in her chest loosened.

This was what teammates did. Took turns leading. Took turns rescuing. Trusted each other to step up.

She swung the carabiner across. He clipped it to his harness with fingers that only shook a little.

“Good. Now—first move. Reach with your left hand. There’s a jug about ten inches away.” She pointed. “See it? The one with the orange lichen?”

Teague’s eyes tracked across the rock face. “Yeah.”

“When you’re ready, shift your weight onto your right foot and reach. Don’t rush.”

He moved carefully. His fingers found the hold, wrapped around the lip, and the relief that crossed his face was almost painful.

“That’s it. Perfect. Now bring your left foot across to that small ledge—about six inches lower than your current stance.”

They moved slowly. Methodically. Eden called out each hold, staying parallel to his position as he traversed toward solid rock. Her mind worked three moves ahead—calculating angles, anticipating problems, finding the path of least resistance.

This was what she’d loved about climbing.