AVA: POV
The rock fit into Ava's palm like it belonged there. It was jagged and cold, the kind of cold that burned skin on contact, and it felt heavier than something so small had any right to feel. It was a piece of the mountain itself, indifferent and ancient, chipped loose from the upper ridge by years of freeze and thaw. She curled her fingers around it and felt the sharp edges bite into her palm. She did not wait for Mark to finish his count. She did not wait to become another one of his trophies, another notch in the sick scoreboard he kept somewhere in the hollow of his chest. She shoved the rock deep into the pocket of her coat, turned her back on his voice, and threw herself into the absolute darkness of the upper ridge.
