The Highlands | Two hours after leaving the vault
The storm hit just as they crested the ridge—a white, screaming wall of wind and ice. Hunter had seen the signs in the dropping pressure, the way the light flattened to a sickly yellow-grey. He’d pushed them hard the last kilometer, but the weather moved faster.
“Shelter!” he yelled over the gale, pointing to a low outcrop of basalt.
They scrambled under the overhang, a shallow hollow barely deep enough for three. Outside, the world dissolved into howling white. Hunter unpacked the emergency bivvy sacks, the metallic sheets crinkling loudly in the confined space.
Freya huddled against the rock, her tablet clutched to her chest. The screen showed the last image she’d captured in the vault—a close-up of a woman’s face caught mid-laugh. Th
