Dale must be twenty meters down. Did he die instantly or did he lie there battered and broken from the fall, his shouts for help unheeded as he slowly and agonizingly froze to death? There’s no way of knowing.

Curtis slumps. “We should have found him.”

I touch his sleeve. Even if he and Brent had found Dale last night, and by some miracle he’d survived the fall, I don’t see how they could have gotten him out of there. “You did everything you could.”

He puts his head in his hands. “We had our differences. But . . . God.”

I blow out a long, slow breath and turn back toward the Panorama building. “We have to tell Heather.”

How am I going to tell her? She’ll go to pieces.

“Milla,” Curtis says sharply. “Don’t move.”

Midstride, I freeze. “What?”

“Stay where you are.”

My heart thumps. Slowly, I turn my head.

Curtis is crouched on the snow near the crevasse, screwdriver in one hand, a chunk of something thin and white in the other.

“What’s that?” I say.

“Polystyrene.” He hurls it aside and reaches into the snow to pull out another jagged piece.

Hairs prickle on the back of my neck. I blink, struggling to make sense of it. There’s only one explanation that comes to mind and it’s one I don’t want to accept.

Curtis voices it for me. “It’s a trap. Someone put this over the crevasse with a thin layer of snow over the top.”

A cold feeling rushes over me. “An artificial snow bridge,” I say. “When someone steps on it, they fall in.”

Dale’s death wasn’t an accident.

“Directly between here and the piste down,” Curtis says grimly. “Someone wanted to make damn sure we couldn’t get—”

It happens so fast I don’t have time to react. The snow around Curtis opens up and he sinks in up to his knees. He throws himself sideways, hands grappling for purchase.

I start toward him.

“No!” he gasps. “Don’t!”

So I remain where I am, watching helplessly as he claws his way out of the hole.

Cautiously he climbs to his feet. “Shit, I lost the screwdriver.”

Our only weapon is now a distant speck halfway down the crevasse. Still, it’s better than Curtis being down there. He creeps toward me, planting his feet with care.

He’s still breathing hard when he reaches me. “I’m going to follow our footsteps back to the building. Walk behind me. There might be more traps.”

“Wait,” I say. “I should go first. I’m lighter.”

“Just do it.” His tone is harsh.

I remember our argument earlier. Okay, I’ll follow him. That way I can grab hold of his jacket if he looks like he’s falling. I tighten my knee brace so I’m as ready as I can be to take his weight.