Gustave Mackenzie's POV
The climb is harder than it should be.
Not because of her weight, but because of the emptiness in her eyes.
Her body refuses to let go of me, pressed against mine. I try to pull her away enough to grab the damn rope, but her fingers dig into my shirt, clinging with a desperate force born of fear.
"Bianca…" I murmur, and the sound of my own voice feels strange. Hoarse. Too human.
She doesn't answer.
I adjust the rope. She's tied to me.
"Don't let go," I whisper.
I don't know if my words reach her brain or just slide off the icy surface of her skin. Probably the latter.
I climb first. My muscles tense and pull her up. We both emerge, our hands touching the grass around us.
"Bianca," I call again. Nothing.
I curse under my breath.
"Look at me,"
