Page 4 of Tracked By the Mountain Man
Maybe it's just that I know what it feels like to lose someone in these mountains and spend years wondering if you could have done differently.
"Leah," I say quietly. "Let me help you get back to town. We can talk about Eagle's Rest tomorrow, when you're rested and properly equipped."
She looks at me for a long moment, and I see the exact instant when the adrenaline of being lost crashes into exhaustion.
"Okay," she whispers.
As I help her to her feet, careful as I would be with anyone in shock, I tell myself this is just another rescue. Just another lost hiker who needs safe passage back to civilization.
But I know I'm lying.
Leah Walsh isn't just another rescue. She's the sister of the girl I couldn't save, the ghost I've been carrying for five years. And sitting here on this cliff edge, broken and desperate to honor her dead twin, she's become something else entirely.
She's become someone I can't afford to lose.
three
Leah
ThedescentfromDevil'sThumb feels like sleepwalking.
Tyler leads the way, his sure feet finding purchase on loose rock and root-tangled trail while I stumble behind him. My legs shake from exhaustion and adrenaline crash, but it's more than physical fatigue weighing me down.
I got lost. Just like five years ago, I lost my way and nearly walked off a cliff. The irony tastes bitter, coming here to honor Katie's memory and almost ending up just as dead as she is.
"Watch your step here," Tyler calls back, his voice gentle but professional. "Rock's loose."
I nod but don't trust myself to speak. Tyler seems to understand this instinctively, keeping his guidance minimal and his tone calm.
The familiar landmarks of Katie's Trail emerge as we rejoin the main path, the wooden bridge over Black Creek, the boulder where families stop for photos, the interpretive sign about localwildlife. All the markers I studied obsessively but somehow missed in my emotional haze this morning.
"There's a clearing about half a mile ahead," Tyler says as the sun sinks lower through the trees. "Good place to rest and eat before we head back to the parking lot."
"I should go back." The words come out smaller than I intended. "I should just go back home and pretend this never happened."
Tyler stops walking and turns to face me. His expression is unreadable in the dappled forest light, but his eyes are steady.
"Is that what you want to do?"
The question hangs between us. I want to say yes, I want to choose the safe option, the path that leads away from pain and memory. But standing here on this trail, looking at this man who helped carry my sister's body down the mountain, I can't lie.
"No," I whisper. "But I don't know how to do this. I don't know how to be here without her."
"Nobody knows how to deal with grief," Tyler says quietly. "We just muddle through and hope we don't destroy ourselves in the process."
There's weight in his voice that suggests personal experience. I study his face, noting the lines around his eyes, the way his jaw tightens when he mentions destruction.
"You sound like you know about that."
He resumes walking without answering, but his shoulders tense. Whatever pain Tyler Brooks carries, it's not easily shared.
The clearing opens before us like a sanctuary—a grassy meadow dotted with wildflowers, surrounded by towering pines. A ring of stones marks an old fire pit, and fallen logs provide natural seating. The kind of place Katie would have declared "absolutely perfect" for an impromptu picnic.
Tyler shrugs off his pack and pulls out a water bottle and energy bar. "Sit," he says, more command than suggestion. "Eat something. You're probably dehydrated and running on empty."
I sink onto one of the logs, accepting the offered food without argument. The energy bar tastes like cardboard, but Tyler's right—I haven't eaten since a piece of toast this morning.
"Can I ask you something?" I venture after a few bites.
