Astrid yells as she loses her balance and disappears over the side of the slope, but the silence afterward is so much worse. Clarisse hisses, "Shit," peers over the side, but it's pitch black down there. There's a hot, prickling panic on the back of her neck that's fighting to spread, to take over every part of her. Her fingertips are bloodless gripping the rock ledge.

"Astrid?" she yells down, and doesn't wait for a response before she plants first one boot and then the other onto the slope and starts making her way down it. Much more slowly than she'd like to move, but if she slips, that's two of them hurt. Or worse—

"No," Clarisse rebukes herself. Shut up, shut the fuck up. Nobody is dying down here.

"Astrid!" Her own voice echoes back to her.