In truth I’m far from calm. The rocks below look super sharp. Come on, hold it together. Step by step, I walk my feet down the cliff face. The wind catches me, blowing me sideways. Whoa. Clinging to the rope with one hand, I put out my other hand just in time as I’m swung against the rock. I wait for the gust to pass, then continue down.

Ten more meters. At last it flattens off and my boots sink into the snow.

A snowcat has zigzagged the short distance down the trail from the glacier to light up our landing zone. I shield my eyes from the glare of its headlights.

And Saskia steps out of the shadows like a ghost.

I’m so shocked to see her that I nearly tumble backward onto the knife-edge rocks.

“Where did you come from?” I splutter.

She nods to the bubble one down from ours. I catch the triumphant look on her face, and then I understand. She saw me creep off and followed me up here, intending to do a victory lap.

My hands clench at my sides, itching to give her a sharp push.

CHAPTER 11

PRESENT DAY

“You know what?” Dale says. “I’m glad your sister’s dead.”

Curtis’s fist shoots out, hitting him in the jaw. Dale reels backward, hand to his face.

It wasn’t a hard punch—I’m sure Curtis could do much worse if he wanted—but I’m shocked all the same. Curtis is usually Mr. Control, although there were occasions that winter when I saw him lose it—all related to his sister. The Superman of British snowboarding and his kryptonite.

Dale recovers and rushes at Curtis, knocking him backward onto a table.

Things turned ugly between Dale and Curtis the night before Saskia disappeared, but as far as I could tell, Heather and Saskia were the ones who started it. Curtis and Dale just got dragged into it. I imagine they went their own separate ways after that—like I did—and their friendship never recovered.

Brent and I jump in. Fists fly and poor Brent gets all the air knocked out of him. I try to get Curtis in a choke hold again but he’s wise to me now. Heather cowers in a corner, hands in front of her face.

“How do you know my sister’s dead?” Curtis says. “Did you kill her?” From the way he’s looking at Dale, it’s as though he seriously believes he might have.

A familiar heaviness settles over me.

It wasn’t Dale. It was me. I killed her.

I wanted to win so badly that I was prepared to go to any length to achieve it. I’ve played it over and over in my head these last ten years, only to reach the same conclusion every time. My actions caused her death.