I opened my mouth, the question already forming ‘What counts as too late?’ but the answer never came. Instead, a sharp shove to my back sent me careening into the void.
The world vanished, but I didn’t scream.
There was no up, no down. No wind or sound, just a gut-wrenching sense of falling, like the universe had yanked me out of itself.
I scrambled, fumbling with the blindfold. My fingers trembled and slipped against the knot, panic rising in my throat.What if I’m already close to the ground? What if I pull too late? What if I’m dead before I even begin?
Finally, the fabric tore away, and I forced myself to keep it clenched in one hand. Out here, even a scrap could be useful.
The world exploded into color and movement.
Below me there was endless green. A vast sea of trees, dense and wild, broken only by twisting rivers and the occasional clearing. It was breathtaking, and terrifying.
I wasn’t in immediate danger of crashing into anything, but I could feel the pull of gravity intensifying, my descent speeding up.
I scanned the sky, heart pounding, searching for other parachutes. Ezra’s maybe. No…focus. I’d never have this vantage point again.
I turned my eyes toward the horizon.
There. A glint. Praxis.
A tiny shimmer in the distance, like a jewel tuckedbetween the trees. I burned it into my memory, then traced the curves of rivers, the gaps in the trees, the layout of hills and valleys. If I didn’t have a map, I’d become one.
And then, I pulled.
The force of the parachute deploying yanked me upward with a brutal jolt, snapping my body back and slamming pressure into my shoulders where the pack's straps dug in deep. Pain radiated through the joints and I cursed instinctively, then immediately clamped my mouth shut.
The camera. Strapped tight against my chest. I could practically feel its lens blinking, watching, recording. Jax was watching. Everyone was.
I’d never used a parachute before. When would I have? I didn’t know how to steer or slow or aim. All I could do was clutch the straps and try to make educated guesses based on nothing but gut instinct and fear.
The trees were coming up fast.
Really fast.
The fear surged again, hot and sharp in my throat. If I landed in the river, I’d be drenched and chilled to the bone. One night in soaked clothes and I could be dealing with hypothermia. But if I hit the rocks... Well, that was a shorter kind of problem. A final kind. My mind raced through every worst-case scenario like a skipping stone.
I adjusted the straps, trying to shift my weight….maybe if I leaned a little left? Slowed the spin?
No time to overthink it. The treeline was right there.
Branches slapped at me as if nature herself took offense to my intrusion, scratching my arms, ripping at my clothes. I cried out as something sharp nicked my cheek, then yelped again as my chute snagged suddenly on a branch above, tearing slightly with an awfulrrriiippp.
And then…nothing.
I fell. Tumbled through the branches like a ragdoll, slamming through leaves and limbs, reaching out in vain for something, anything, to grab. My fingers scraped bark as I slipped.
The world was a blur of green and motion and pain.
And then my chute caught on something solid.
I jerked violently, the momentum wrenched to a halt, and I swung midair like a pendulum. Everything went still. My breathing, the leaves, the drop. All of it. Still. I hung there. Alive. Twenty feet off the forest floor, tangled in a parachute that had for some reason decided to spare me.
My heart thundered in my chest. I couldn’t help the hysterical laugh that bubbled up in my throat, half relief, half terror.
Now came the hard part.
Getting down.
