As I drifted into the freezing air, hovering in the liminal space between life and whatever comes next, I finally saw it: Benedict’s back. He was walking away, resolute and cold, leaving me behind in the snow. The bet had been a mistake from the very beginning. I couldn’t believe he had actually used my life—my fragile, failing heart—as the stakes for a wager on whether I could summit Mount Rainier. The altitude sickness had hit me like a physical blow. My head felt like it was being split by an axe, and my stomach turned over and over until I was retching nothing but bile. With trembling fingers, I tried to pull out my phone to send my location to my mom. I just wanted to go home. But Mallory reached out, her hand pinning mine down before snatching the device away. “There’s no signal up here, Grace. And look at you—you’re shaking so hard you’ll drop it. I’ll keep it safe for you,” she said, her voice dripping with artificial sweetness. Then, she turned to Benedict, her tone shifting to a playful pout. “Ben, maybe you should just admit defeat. I’ll buy everyone dinner tonight, and we can just pretend this climb never happened.” The flicker of hesitation in Benedict’s eyes vanished instantly. Instead, he shot me a look of pure, unadulterated disgust. “She’s fine. She’s just being dramatic because she can’t hack the climb. She’s nothing but a lead weight dragging us down.” I reached out to him, my hands covered in scrapes from the frozen shale, sobbing, begging him to take me back down. He just waved me off with an irritated flick of his wrist. “If you don’t make the summit today, don’t bother coming home,” he snapped. Then he whistled to the rest of the group. “Ignore her. She’ll crawl back to her feet and follow us once she realizes we aren’t coming back to fetch her.” I watched their silhouettes grow smaller and smaller against the blinding white of the peak. I collapsed into the snow, and this time, I didn't get back up. Benedict, I’m sorry. I really can’t keep up with you this time. 1 Floating in the half-light, I looked down at the girl in the sleeping bag. Her face was buried deep in the down lining, only the tips of her fingers peeking out. Her fingernails were already a haunting shade of slate blue. “Grace!” The tent zipper hissed open, and a gust of biting wind rushed in. Benedict ducked inside, crouching beside me. He reached out and gave my shoulder a rough shove. “Get up. We’re moving out.” He stared at me for a few seconds, his jaw tightening as his expression darkened. “Grace Miller, are you seriously doing this right now? You’re going to play the silent treatment card here?” From outside, someone shouted for him. “Ben! Come on, we need to move!” Mallory’s voice drifted in. “Is Grace still in bed? The rangers said there might be a whiteout by noon. If we don’t leave now, we’re going to get stuck.” Benedict’s face twisted with further resentment at her words. When I still didn't move, his voice turned into a low, cold hiss. “Stop being so goddamn selfish. This isn't your house. No one is going to coddle you up here. Get. Up.” Mallory poked her head into the tent, leaning close to Benedict’s ear. Her voice was a conspiratorial whisper. “Ben, do you think she’s doing this on purpose? You know, so you’ll have to carry her the rest of the way? But everyone is waiting...” She let the sentence hang there, unfinished but toxic. Benedict’s eyes turned cold as stone. He grit his teeth and stood up abruptly. “Carry her? In her dreams.” He reached down, grabbed my heavy pack from beside the sleeping bag, and tossed it toward Mallory. “If she doesn't want to get up, she doesn't need this. It’s yours.” Mallory caught the bag, looking momentarily stunned. “But Ben...” Inside that bag was my entire life support—my thermal gear, my rations, and my emergency heart medication. “She wants to lie there? Let her lie there. Don’t waste the supplies on someone who won't use them.” Mallory clutched the bag to her chest, casting a quick, sideways glance at my body in the sleeping bag. “What... what about Grace?” “If she wants to follow, she’ll follow. If not, to hell with it.” Mallory took a step forward, standing right over me. She purposefully brought the heavy lug of her hiking boot down on my exposed hand. She ground the sole into my blueish fingers, a slow, deliberate twist. “Oh! Oops, sorry, Grace! I didn't mean to step on you. I was just trying to wake you up.” She lifted her foot, looking up at Benedict with wide, pathetic eyes. “I’m so sorry, Ben. I didn't mean to. But she’s still not waking up? Her temper is just... wow.” At that moment, the other guys finished packing the gear and peeled back the tent flap. “Ben, where’s your little shadow?” Benedict let out a sharp, impatient snort. “She’s on strike. Playing dead because she wants attention.” He looked down at me one last time, a mocking sneer on his lips. He delivered a sharp kick to my shin. “Get up. The act is over.” I didn't flinch. I didn't move. Benedict’s fury peaked. His brow furrowed into that deep, jagged line—the one I had spent my whole life trying to smooth away. I had been terrified of that expression since we were children. Because of my heart condition, my parents used to leave me at the Sterling house when they had to work late. When Benedict was a young, restless boy, I was the anchor dragging him down. He couldn't go out and play soccer with the other boys; he couldn't spend all day running through the woods because he had to stay inside and watch over me. Every time his parents told him he couldn't go out because of me, he would wear that exact expression. Back then, I was too young to understand his resentment. I would reach out with my small hands and try to rub the frown lines from his forehead. But I couldn't reach him now. Benedict stood there, staring at my back, waiting for the punchline. Waiting for me to laugh or cry or scream. But I remained still. Losing the last shred of his patience, he kicked me again, harder this time. In the silence of the tent, I heard something snap. A clean, sharp sound, like a dry branch breaking in winter. “Fine, Grace. If you’re so committed to the performance, stay here. There’s a storm coming, and nobody here owes it to you to stay behind and play along with your tantrums.” When Benedict stormed out, Mallory lingered for one last look before ducking out after him. The sound of their footsteps faded into the distance. The wind began to howl, whipping through the gap in the tent zipper they hadn't bothered to close. It blew across my face. My eyes were half-open, pupils dilated and fixed, a thick layer of frost already beginning to coat my lashes. From the ceiling of the tent, I watched Benedict’s back as he walked away without a single backward glance. Maybe he had wanted to do this for years. Outside, their voices grew faint, swallowed by the mountain. “Ben, how long do you think it’ll take her to catch up?” “Who cares.” “What if she doesn't?” “Then she doesn't.” “But what if something actually happens to her?” Benedict’s pace faltered for a fraction of a second, then he surged forward again, his strides lengthening. “Our parents have been worried that 'something' would happen to her for eighteen years. She’s still here, isn't she? She’s tougher than she looks. It’s all a game.” His cold voice drifted away, buried by the roar of the wind. I knew then. He wasn't coming back. 2 Just when I thought Benedict was gone for good, I saw him stop. He turned around and began striding back toward the tent. Watching him get closer, a flicker of genuine hope sparked in my hollow chest. He’s going to see. He’s going to realize I wasn't lying this time. The wind whipped his Gore-Tex jacket, making it snap like a flag. My heart—or what was left of it—rhythmed with the sound. I remembered being kids. Every time I got tired and sat on the curb, refusing to move, he would walk a few paces ahead, turn around, and scowl. He’d threaten to leave me there in the middle of the street. I would burst into tears, terrified. But every single time, before he hit the ten-step mark, he would turn back. He would crouch down in front of me, his back turned, and tell me to get on. I’d wrap my arms around his neck, and he’d carry me all the way home, muttering about how I was "heavy as a rock" and how he’d "never do it again." But he always did. It had been eight years since Benedict last carried me. He was almost at the tent now. Ten yards. Five. Three. He stopped just outside the flap. I waited for the realization. I waited for the grief. But he just stood there, looking down at the hand peeking out from the sleeping bag—the hand Mallory had stepped on. Suddenly, he let out a sharp, mocking laugh. “Grace Miller, I knew it. You’re such a liar. Your hand wasn't in that position five minutes ago!” I froze, looking at that frozen, bloodless hand. I wanted to scream at him. Benedict, no! I didn't move! It was the wind! Mallory didn't zip the tent, and the wind moved the bag! But no matter how hard I screamed, he couldn't hear me. Benedict’s anger seemed to double. He reached down, about to grab my wrist to yank me out. “Ben?” The voice came from behind him. Mallory was jogging back, panting slightly as she stopped beside him. “Why did you come back?” Benedict pulled his hand back, turning to look at her. “I was just...” He trailed off, his ego getting the better of him. “I thought I left my gloves. But you’re right. Grace has been playing this game with me since we were in diapers. If I cave now, she wins. Maybe we should just call off the bet? I can go tell the guys I’m a coward who can’t handle his girlfriend’s moods.” The rest of the team started trekking back toward them. “No way, Ben,” one of the guys, Wade, called out. “If you back out now, you have to do the forfeit. You really want to walk through the middle of campus in a tutu shouting 'I'm a pathetic loser'?” Another teammate chimed in, laughing. “Since when does Benedict Sterling let a woman push him around? Every time we tried to get you out to the bars, you used your 'childhood sweetheart' as an excuse. We finally get you out here, and you’re going to let her ruin the trip? That’s weak, man.” Under the weight of their mockery, Benedict’s face turned a dangerous shade of red. “Who said I’m calling it off? We’re short on tents as it is. If she wants to stay here and rot in this one, fine. But are you two planning on sleeping in the snow tonight?” He pointed at Wade and the other guy. The two men immediately shut up, rubbing their necks awkwardly. “Then get over here and tear this tent down. What are you waiting for?” They didn't argue further. They knelt down and started pulling the stakes. Wade muttered under his breath, “Man, your girl is stubborn. She’s still not moving?” The other guy gave my sleeping bag a shove. Feeling the unnatural stiffness of my body, he chuckled. “Look at this. She’s actually tensing her whole body to stay still. That’s commitment. She should have gone to Juilliard.” “She probably thinks if she stays perfectly still, we’ll eventually give in,” Wade added. Benedict leaned down, ripping the final ground peg from the frozen earth. “Just drag the bag out,” Benedict said, not even looking at me. “If she doesn't move, throw the bag and her with it.” “She’s been like this her whole life,” Benedict continued, his voice loud so I would 'hear' it. “The second things don't go her way, she flops over. Her parents spoiled her, but I’m done with it.” Seeing Benedict’s resolve, the two men didn't hesitate. They each grabbed an end of the sleeping bag. My body sagged in the middle as they lifted me. The guy at my head laughed. “Ben, she’s even tucking her head in so we can’t see her face. She’s terrified of breaking character.” He looked down at the bag. “Listen, Grace, you’re making Ben look bad. He bet he could get you to the top. Stop being a brat and think about him for once. Maybe if you act like a human being, he’ll actually carry you the last mile.” Benedict turned his back on me. “Stop talking to her. Just dump her out. Let’s see how long she lasts in the open air.” They hauled me over to a ridge, less than ten yards from a sheer drop-off, and dumped me. The wind whipped the fabric of the sleeping bag. Floating above, I looked down at myself. My face was half-buried in a snowdrift. If he had just touched my wrist for one second—just one second—he would have felt the silence of my pulse. He was so close. But he was miles away. 3 The wind shifted, and the blizzard descended with a sudden, violent fury. A wall of grey-white snow roared over the ridge. Panic erupted. The group scrambled to set up the remaining tents, six people cramming into a space meant for four, everyone shivering and coated in ice. Suddenly, Wade let out a yelp. “My pack! It’s gone!” In the chaos of the wind, the gust had swept several bags right off the ledge. Four of them were gone. They peeked out of the tent flap, squinting into the white nothingness. “Grace is gone too!” someone shouted. After confirming the sleeping bag was nowhere to be seen, the tent erupted in frantic accusations. Garrison, an older guy on the trip, slammed his gear onto the floor. “Goddammit! Did she take our supplies?” He glared at Benedict. Benedict stared at the tent wall, silent. Garrison shoved Benedict’s shoulder. “Your little girlfriend is a piece of work, Ben. She plays dead all morning, and the second we turn our backs, she loots the camp and bails?” Garrison’s voice rose to a scream. “Our rations are in those bags! We’re going to starve or freeze up here because of her!” Everyone turned to Benedict. “Ben, say something! Are you going to play the 'silent and brooding' routine now too?” Benedict kept his head down. His voice was barely a whisper. “She has a heart condition. She couldn't have carried all those bags...” Garrison stood up, pointing a finger in his face. “Who are you kidding? If she has a heart condition, why did you bet her life on a mountain climb? This was a setup. You two planned this. She stole the gear, you brought her here. What’s the move, Sterling?” As the tension hit a breaking point, Mallory stood up, stepping between them. “Stop it!” She looked from Garrison to Benedict. “Even if Grace did take the bags, she’s a small girl. She couldn't have gone far in this. We’ll find her when the snow lets up.” She turned around and opened the pack Benedict had given her earlier. She pulled out protein bars, energy gels, and a thermal space blanket. My things. My eyes felt heavy with a grief that had no tears. Mallory began distributing the items with practiced generosity. “The blizzard is bad. We need to keep our strength up. You can have mine.” The teammates softened. “Mallory... thank you.” “It’s fine,” she said with a sweet smile. “We’re a team.” Garrison took a bar, shooting Benedict a nasty look. “Mallory has ten times the heart that brat ever had.” No one disagreed. Suddenly, a small plastic bottle rolled out of the bag. My emergency pills. The bottle skittered across the floor and hit Benedict’s boot. He picked it up, his expression flickering with a brief, sharp pang of worry. “These are her meds. She never goes anywhere without them.” Mallory leaned over to look, letting out a small, mocking giggle. She took the bottle from him and twisted it open. She poured the contents into her palm. A dozen colorful, round candies spilled out. Skittles. “Ben, look. This isn't medicine.” Mallory picked one up and shoved it into his mouth. “Taste it.” Benedict chewed slowly. His face went ashen, then turned a deep, bruised purple. Garrison barked a laugh. “So the whole 'sick girl' act was a total sham. She was carrying around a bottle of candy the whole time.” Another guy joined in. “I watched her huffing and puffing the whole way up, face turning pale, lips turning blue... she’s a hell of an actress. Ben, she’s been playing you for a fool for years.” Benedict’s hand crushed the plastic bottle. He hurled it against the tent pole. “You’re a moron, Benedict,” Garrison sneered. “A bottle of Skittles kept you wrapped around her finger for a decade. She played you, and now she’s out there with our food while we’re stuck in a hole.” “Because of her, we almost died today,” the other guy added, stoking the fire. “You owe us, Ben. You need to handle her.” I shook my head violently, screaming at him from the shadows of the tent. No! Benedict, no! Those were the pills! My mom put them in there so I wouldn't be scared to take them! Benedict, I never lied to you! The wind outside began to die down. Benedict sat in the silence for a long time before he spoke. “Don’t worry. When the snow clears, we’ll find her.” He stared at the crushed bottle on the floor. “If she took your gear, I’ll make her pay for every bit of it.” The tent went cold. “I’ll be the one to hand her over to the police myself.” No one spoke. Mallory looked at him, the corner of her mouth twitching into the ghost of a smirk. I felt a strange, hollow peace wash over me. I drifted out of the tent, over to the ledge. The snow had buried everything. 4 Inside the tent, the six of them were still debating Benedict’s plan. Mallory shook her head gently. “I don't know, Ben. Your families are so close. If you actually press charges, it’ll ruin everything between your parents. Maybe we just... teach her a lesson?” Garrison snorted. “A lesson? You think a lecture is going to change a girl like that?” Someone else suggested, “We just need to scare her. Give her a fright she’ll never forget so she never tries this crap again.” They all nodded, a silent, ugly consensus forming. Garrison spoke up again. “I say we each give her a slap. Ten across the face from everyone here. Let her feel exactly how much she screwed us over. It’s better than jail, but she’ll remember it.” He looked at Benedict. “She’s your girl, and she stole from us. You think ten slaps is too much?” Benedict looked up. His eyes were dead. “No. It’s not too much.” Garrison rubbed his hands together. “Good. I want to be first. I’ve been waiting all day.” A few nervous chuckles rippled through the tent. Two hours later, the storm broke. The group packed their gear and stepped out into the blinding sun. There was a commotion a few hundred yards away. A group of about a dozen hikers had gathered in a circle. Someone was handing out supplies. Benedict’s face hardened. He marched toward them. He shoved through the crowd, his voice a roar. “Grace Miller! You have some nerve! You steal our gear and then you have the gall to act like a—” His voice died in his throat. The person handing out the supplies was a young man in his early twenties. Behind him stood a group of college-aged kids. “Who the hell are you?” the young man asked, startled. “What’s your problem?” Benedict was panting, his eyes darting to the gear on the ground. “Where... where did you get this?” The boy frowned. “We found it. Over by the ridge. A bunch of packs were scattered in the snow, abandoned. We were passing through and figured we’d distribute the extras to people who lost their stuff in the storm. Is there a problem?” Benedict stared at him, his brain refusing to process the information. “Did a girl give these to you? Grace Miller? Where is she?” Garrison pushed forward, gesturing to my height. “A girl, nineteen, purple jacket. Did she give you these?” The boy rolled his eyes. “I don't know who you’re talking about. We found the bags. They were just sitting there. We’re just trying to be good Samaritans, man.” Wade chimed in, desperate. “Did anyone come looking for them? Did you see anyone near the ridge?” “For the tenth time, NO!” the boy snapped. “The bags were just there. You guys are acting crazy. We’re done here.” Benedict didn't say anything. Mallory reached out and tugged on his sleeve. Suddenly, a scream ripped through the thin mountain air. “OH MY GOD!” Everyone spun around. A hiker was scrambling away from a mound of snow a few hundred yards away, his face paper-white. “There’s... there’s a body!”
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