Hmm. If I can pile the pressure on and make her believe I’m going to do a Crippler tomorrow, maybe she’ll risk something she shouldn’t.

“Everyone ready?” Curtis calls. “Go!”

This is a black run. I point my board down the fall line, weight on my front foot. We’re bombing down: Brent and Curtis; me, Saskia, and Odette. My trousers flap; the wind roars in my ears. The boys pull ahead as always, with Odette right behind them. So far Saskia and I are about level. My tired quads scream in protest as I swerve around a fallen skier.

The piste curls off to the right. Curtis carves around in a powerful racing turn. Brent keeps going straight, jumping the small cliff at the bottom, like he always does. Just because he’s Brent. I hate cliff drops and normally follow the others down the piste, but today I’m feeling reckless. Or desperate, more like. The piste is busy with holidaymakers; the powder might be faster. So I scrape in a speed check and head for the cliff.

Before I can change my mind, I’m airborne, plunging downward and leaving my stomach behind. The impact of landing wrenches my knees and nearly sends me over the nose of my board. Leg muscles on fire, I lean back and ride it out.

Brent disappears into the fir trees ahead. I chase after him. The trees are covered in thick white coats. In their shadow, the air is colder and pine scented. The powder is shades of purple and up to my knees. Snowboarders dream of such conditions, but I’m too focused on the race to enjoy it.

Trees come up thick and fast and it takes all my concentration to dodge them. Branches scrape my cheeks; snow tumbles onto my head and shoulders. Any minute now I’m going to see the piste again. There!

I strain to see the off-white of Saskia’s jacket. Shit—she’s nearly at the bend already. The piste narrows to single file for a few meters just here, with a rocky outcrop on one side and a big drop on the other. Saskia and I are going to hit it at the exact same time, only I’m going to hit it from above.

She glances sideways and sees me. I’m not pulling out. She’ll have to.

Except she’s not going to; I can tell. My board’s going to take all the impact, and since I’m coming at her from above, her board is going to slide off the track.

We close in and I brace myself for the impact. Just before our boards make contact, something yanks me hard backward by the scruff of my jacket.

What the—? My board swerves below me and I tumble to the powder. Another figure wipes out nearby.

And of course it’s Curtis. How did he even get behind me?