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“I thought it would taste like chicken,” Zander says, stealing the words from me.

“It’s almost... fishy,” I add.

Hawke smiles at us. “See, it’s not so terrible, is it?”

It might not be terrible, but it’s absolutely not enjoyable—partly due to the taste, but mostly because of the psychological factor.

“Of all the things we’ve eaten on this trip, it’s right down there with the possum,” I say, the bony texture alone making it an unpleasant experience. But I make myself take a second bite, knowing I’ll need the energy, especially when Hawke tells us that it’s all uphill for the rest of the day.

What I don’t realize is that he means that literally, which I discover only after we finish our lunch and continue on our hike, soon reaching a sheer cliff—but this one stretches upward, not downward.

“Time for some mountain climbing,” Hawke declares, pulling a grappling hook from his pack. “Those extra snake calories are about to save your lives.”

Charlie nearly died today.

That’s the only thought screaming across my mind as Hawke continues pulling climbing gear out of his pack, telling us about the task ahead.

If I hadn’t seen the snake in time, if I hadn’t moved fast enough to haul her backward, if she’d taken one more step?—

Thirty minutes, Hawke said. That’s how long she would have had if it had struck her. There’s no way we would have been able to get her anywhere for treatment in that time. She would have died—and it would have been my fault.

Maybe not directly. But I’m the reason she’s here. And feeling her trembling in my arms afterward, knowing how close she’d come to death?—

“Zander, are you listening?”

A shuddering breath leaves me and I force myself back into the present, knowing better than to travel down the what-if path. Charlie is unharmed. The snake is dead. We’re all safe. That’s what I need to focus on now, rather than dwelling on what might have been.

“Sorry, yes,” I answer Hawke.

He eyes me suspiciously, and I know I’ve been caught in my distraction, but he only says, “I was just explaining how we need to make it up this cliff before we can keep hiking, but it should be the last of the strenuous obstacles we have to tackle today.” He gestures for Charlie, Bentley, and me to step back, and once we’re far enough away, he swings the grappling hook a few times before letting it fly. It takes him three attempts before it locks onto something at the top of the rock face, and he tests it with his weight, nodding in satisfaction.

“I’ll go first this time,” Hawke says. “Make sure you pay attention to what I’m doing so you can repeat these actions for yourselves.”

I assume the warning is for my benefit, given that I spaced out only moments ago, so I concentrate when Hawke shows us how to clip our carabiners to the rope, and how to adjust the foot loop.

“You’ll also need a jumar—an ascender,” he says, holding up a metal, clamp-like device. “Grip it with your dominant hand, and when you use the foot loop to step upward, slide the jumar along the rope. It locks in place to make it easier for you to pull yourself up without slipping back down. See?”

He demonstrates again, then says, “Helmets on, in case I dislodge any rocks on my way up. And remember: there’s no rush. This kind of climbing will really work your core muscles, so don’t be afraid to stop and rest.”

Just as he says it, the sun disappears, and I look up in surprise to see that the blue sky from earlier is now covered in clouds. They’re still high and fluffy enough not to be threatening, but in the distance they’re much darker and heavier. Charlie, Hawke, and Bentley are glancing in that direction as well, all with varying expressions of concern.

“It’s not raining yet,” Hawke says, “so what I said holds true: take your time.” He pauses. “That said, we don’t want to be halfway up this in a downpour, so let’s not linger longer than we have to.”

I don’t love the way he frowns at the clouds again, but he quickly clears his features and steps into the foot loop, using the jumar to pull himself up the rope and his free leg to grip hollows in the rock, explaining what he’s doing as he goes. He makes it seem easy, and is soon up and over the lip of the cliff, out of sight for only a few seconds before his head reappears and he calls down to us, “Who’s next?”

Charlie looks grimly at me. “Rock, paper, scissors?”

We play best of three and I end up winning, but I don’t know if that means I’m climbing next or she is until she nudges me forward—making me wonder if she would have done the same even if she’d won.

My first few attempts to climb are unsuccessful, leaving me swinging wildly and struggling to move the jumar upward, but I eventually get into a somewhat coordinated rhythm. It’s difficult work, my abdominal muscles burning and legs cramping, while my fingers turn numb from gripping the jumar and rope. I think my personal trainer must be lying about what good shape I’m in, since I’m a sweating, aching mess when I finally heave myself over the top and lay panting on the ledge, unable to move.

Charlie is the same when she arrives, hissing a colorful array of curse words around her gasping breaths as she rubs feeling back into her hands, glaring daggers at Hawke the whole time. But there’s also a spark in her violet eyes that wasn’t there when I first met her, something I’ve noticed growing over the last two days. It’s like she’s coming alive the longer we’re out here; like every challenge we overcome is transforming something inside of her, making her open up more with each new task we face.

When Bentley joins us—his ascent much faster than Charlie’s and mine—we take a few minutes to rest properly, rehydrating ourselves and snacking on some sandpaper figs Hawke found when we were hiking earlier. As I enjoy the sweet, juicy fruit, I find myself grateful that so many plants in the park are edible, and we don’t have to survive solely on dead animals. I’ve already had enough of those to last a lifetime.

We’re just getting ready to continue on our way when the bushes rustle and Scarlett emerges with the big, bald Hux by her side. They’re both carrying climbing gear, indicating that they, too, had to scale the mountain, since their vehicles would have been unable to navigate the vertical cliff face. Hux moves straight to Hawke and starts checking the rope we used, satisfied when he finds no evidence of tearing. But it’s not Hux I’m watching—it’s Scarlett. Because the look on her face...

“We have a problem,” she says, causing all of us to straighten.