My fingers dug into mud.
Slipped.
I slammed my boot against a rock, pushed up, almost got two feet off the ground before the whole side of the pit gave under my weight and sent me crashing down again.
Aiden was already moving beside me, breathing hard, hands running over every inch of the wall, looking for roots, stones, anything solid enough to climb.
Always thinking.
Always calculating.
Even now.
Even when his face was pale beneath blood and mud and fear.
“There,” he said, pointing to a jagged stone halfway up.
I didn’t wait.
I jumped, caught it with both hands and for half a second, half a stupid beautiful second, I thought I had it.
Then the stone broke loose in my grip.
I hit the ground on my back hard enough to knock the air out of my lungs again.
Pain shot up my spine.
