POV: Ava
The rock in my hand was jagged, cold, and felt heavier than it should. It was a piece of the mountain, indifferent and hard much like my heart had become in the last hour. I didn't wait for Mark to finish his count. I didn't wait to become a trophy in his sick game. I shoved the rock into the pocket of my coat, turned, and threw myself into the absolute darkness of the upper ridge.
Every step was an exercise in agony. My feet were beyond the point of simple pain; they were blocks of ice that felt like they were shattering with every impact against the frozen ground. The snow was deeper here, reaching my mid-thigh, a white tide threatening to pull me down into a permanent, frozen sleep. But the sound of Mark's laughter that low, mocking chuckle that had haunted my dreams for three years was a whip against my back.
