I continue down the corridor, past the ski lockers, to the main entrance, peeling my banana on the way. I want to see what the weather’s doing on this side of the building.

The glass panel is frosted over on the inside. I dump my snowboard and the bananas and pull my gloves from my pockets.

Curtis races toward me. “I said wait. Why can’t you ever just listen to me?”

“I knew you’d catch up to me,” I say.

His face is red. “I’m trying to get us out of here in one piece. I need to know you’ll do what I tell you.”

“You say ‘jump’ and I jump. That what you want?” It’s not the time and place for us to be having this conversation, but I can’t help it.

Little muscles twitch in his jaw. “Yeah. Sometimes.”

“What if I say ‘jump’? Are you going to jump?”

From the look on his face, it’s never occurred to him that it might work both ways. “Okay.” His voice is softer now.

I shove his banana at him. “I’ll believe it when I see it.”

We bite into our bananas, watching each other. When I finish it, I toss the peel on top of the ski lockers, wipe my hands on my snowboard trousers, and kiss him on the cheek. He catches my hands and kisses me properly. We pull apart with sheepish faces. Our first fight.

We put on our transceivers and gloves. Dale’s transceiver is on the floor beside his orange Oakley goggles. I try not to look at them.

Screwdriver at the ready, Curtis pushes the door. A freezing wind blasts us backward as though it doesn’t want us to go out. We lean into it and step outside.

The vast expanse of the Diable glacier spreads out before us. Curtis and I are the only color in an otherwise black-and-white landscape. I feel exposed, and judging by the way he’s gripping that screwdriver, so does he.

Our snowboards are no use for moving about on the flat, so we leave them propped against the wall where we can see them.

“Let’s do a quick circuit.” Curtis’s breath forms a white cloud as he speaks. “Stick close.”

The snow crunches underfoot as I limp up the slope behind him. The air has an extra chill to it. I pull my hood up and tuck my chin into my collar. The search feels futile. If poor Dale was out here all night, he’ll have frozen to death hours ago.

“That wind’s really picked up,” Curtis shouts as another gust knocks us sideways.

The sky is overcast, the sun a burning white ball trying to battle its way through. A losing battle—darker clouds are marching in from the east. The snow is on the way; I can feel the dampness against my cheeks.