“Nope. No more seats left on the Cog Rail,” I said, glancing down at Taylor.

He was bent at the waist, grabbing his knees.

“Look,” I said.

The peaks and valleys below us were spread out for miles under a blanket of green that turned bluish farther out. We were above the clouds. We were above everything.

Taylor took a swig from his canteen and then let it fall to his hip from the thick green strap hanging from his shoulder and across his chest. He pulled the black fleece pullover over his head that he’d had tied around his waist for most of the climb, and then he returned his Oakley sunglasses back over his eyes.

“It’s gorgeous, but so was Lightning Point.” He turned toward the building behind us. “There’s a fucking gift shop up here? Really?” His breath was still labored, so he took another drink of water. “A gift shop and no way down.”

“And a restaurant. I thought you interagency guys were supposed to be in shape?”

“I’m in shape,” he said, standing a bit taller. “Almost thirteen miles of uphill rocky terrain, breathing thinner air, isn’t part of my daily workout.”

“Maybe you should quit smoking,” I said, arching an eyebrow.

“Maybe you should start.”

“It’s bad for you.”

“So is that energy bar full of high-fructose corn syrup and saturated fat you ate an hour ago.”

I pointed at a gray-haired gentleman posing with his wife at the Summit Point sign. “He’s not whining.”

Taylor’s face screwed into disgust. “He probably drove up here.” He put his hands on his hips and took in the landscape. “Wow.”

“Exactly,” I said.

Both times that I’d hiked Barr Trail were with my parents, and we were some of the only locals who had hiked the Peak once, much less twice. My parents were always passionate about seizing opportunities, and failing to hike a famous trail that was practically in our backyard when hundreds of thousands would travel to experience it would have most certainly been a missed opportunity.

That was back when I had been their Falyn—the girl they felt died the night they’d found me in the bathroom, crouched and sweaty, praying for help I couldn’t ask for. But the Falyn they had known didn’t die. She never existed, and that was probably what was so hard for them to accept—that they’d never known me at all. Now, they never would.

Taylor and I ambled about the summit. People were talking, but it was quiet. There was too much space to fill with voices. Taylor took pictures of us with his cell phone, and then he asked the older couple we’d spoken about before to take our photo at the summit sign.

“You’ve got to get a cell phone,” Taylor said. “Why not just get one of those pay-as-you-go phones?”