Dale puts his arm around Heather and she leans into him. United again, for now at least.

“We need to search this place,” Curtis continues. “For the phones. Or whoever it was who took them.”

“Okay.” Brent downs the remainder of his whiskey and heads to the door. I move to follow him.

“Wait!” Heather shouts. “We don’t know who’s out there.”

“Good point,” Curtis says. “I don’t think the girls should go on their own.”

Dale grips Heather’s hand. “I’ll stick with Heather.”

“I’ll stick with Milla,” Curtis says.

“I’ll stick with Milla,” Brent says.

Maybe I should be grateful they care, but I’m not. I’m mad. I can’t stand this idea that just because I’m female, I’m some pathetic weakling that has to be protected. I’m as strong now as I was then—more arm strength these days, though rather less leg strength—and if someone tried to attack me, I would put up a damn good fight.

I open my mouth to say this. Then I see the tension in Curtis’s jaw; Brent’s, too. And these two don’t scare easily. I think of those dark and deserted corridors. Better to be safe and all that. “How about you both stick with me?”

Curtis nods. “Meet back here in, what, twenty minutes?”

Dale checks his watch. “Okay.”

“You go that way,” Curtis tells him, pointing left. “We’ll go this way. You do the lower floor and we’ll take this one.”

“You the boss now, are you?” Dale says.

Curtis doesn’t answer. He always was the boss, really—not that I usually listened to him.

Dale tugs on Heather’s hand and they set off down the corridor.

“Check the ski lockers,” Curtis shouts after them. “And look for a landline while you’re at it.”

We set off the other way. Curtis leads, naturally. Exploring was creepy enough earlier. It’s much creepier now. The Panorama building is different in the ski season, when it echoes with the clunks of ski sticks and chatter of the winter visitors. Tonight it’s too empty. Too silent.

What would someone want with our phones anyway? I don’t know which is scarier—a complete stranger taking them, or one of these guys whom I thought I knew. Whom I once knew, at least.

The first doors on the right are the toilets.

“Shall I check the ladies’?” I say.

Curtis pushes the door. “We all will.”

There’s a line of four cubicles, all closed. I peer under the bottoms of the doors. If I see a pair of feet . . .

Bang! My heart skips a beat, but it’s Curtis, going down the line and kicking each door wide. There’s nobody in there. Of course there isn’t. Brent riffles through the paper towels in the bin.