The next morning, I left Camp II without him.
The empty place behind me felt louder than Sonic usually did.
Our group moved towards the Lhotse Face before sunrise. The slope rose above us, steep and hard, crossed by fixed ropes that disappeared into the darkness.
I clipped in.
Pemba looked at me.
“Ready?”
I glanced back once.
Camp II lay below, its tents small against the Western Cwm.
Sonic was inside one of them.
Alive.
“I’m ready,” I said.
We climbed.
The Lhotse Face was colder than anything below it.
My front crampon points bit into hard blue ice. My ascender slid along the fixed rope. Every few steps, I stopped to breathe.
The slope did not allow carelessness.
There was no ordinary walking. Each movement had to be deliberate. Kick. Test. Stand. Slide the ascender. Repeat
