“Hey,” he called, keeping his voice steady. “Hey, sweetheart. Look at me. Don’t look down. Just focus on me, okay?”
Her eyes locked onto his, wide with terror.
“I’m scared,” she sobbed. “I can’t hold on.”
Behind him, the Iron Ridge Riders were already moving—blocking traffic, pulling ropes, barking commands—but none of it mattered yet.
Because as the girl shifted her grip, her sleeve slid back.
And Caleb saw it.
A small blue mark on her wrist.
His breath caught painfully.
His hands began to shake.
PART 2: THE MARK MEANT TO BE FORGOTTEN
Caleb stared at the mark as if the mountain might erase it if he looked away.
A faded blue crescent, uneven and imperfect—the kind drawn by a careful but shaking hand. Not a hospital band. Not a child’s sticker.
Something intentional.
Something personal.
Something he hadn’t seen in almost ten years.
“No…” he whispered.
The girl heard the change in his voice immediately.
“What?” she cried. “What’s wrong?”
Caleb forced himself to breathe. He crawled closer to the edge, spreading his weight low, careful not to send more dirt sliding down.
“Nothing’s wrong,” he said quickly. “You’re doing great. Just hold on.”