Page 92 of Dual
But it’s what extends from the far side of the summit that steals my breath—the Cave Peak Stairway.
A skeletal ladder bridge of metal suspended overcompletely empty spaceconnects our mesa to another peak about a hundred yards away.
From this distance, it looks almost delicate—a spider’s web of steel, impossibly thin against the vast backdrop of sky and stone.
But as we approach the edge where the bridge begins, the reality of it hits me with physical force: the narrow ladder-like structure is no more than eighteen inches wide, with rungs that seem much too far apart.
It stretches out into nothingness, its far end almost lost in the haze of distance.
And the drop below?
Four hundred feet of empty air yawning until the unforgiving rocky bottom of the canyon.
The wind is stronger here, gusting across the exposed mesa top, making the steel cables that support the structure vibrate with an eerie, high-pitched hum.
Even from solid ground, I can see the subtle sway of the Stairway, a gentle, sickening movement that sends my stomach lurching toward my throat.
“This is the optional part,” Mike explains, as if reading my thoughts. “The Stairway. We can end the tour here if you prefer, or we can cross over. It’s entirely up to you.”
Domhnall moves to stand beside me, his expression making it clear which option he leans toward. “We’ve already accomplished plenty, love. Let’s turn back. It’s too windy.”
But I’m not here for comfort or even to feel accomplished.
I’m here to find Mads.
And if anything will bring her out of hiding, it’s the heart-stopping exposure of that impossibly fragile walkway stretching across a void deep enough to shatter every bone in my body should I fall.
“I want to do it.” I surprise even myself with the steadiness of my voice. “I’m going all the way.”
Mike nods, checking our harnesses one more time. “The safety system is solid,” he assures us. “You’ll be clipped in the entire time. But it can feel quite intense. Just focus on the rungs directly in front of you, not the drop.”
Domhnall gives me a long look, then nods, apparentlyseeing something in my expression that convinces him I’m serious. “After you, then,” he says, gesturing to the Stairway with a flourish that only partially masks his concern.
Mike goes first, demonstrating the proper technique—slow, deliberate steps, always keeping at least one carabiner clipped to the safety cable. I follow, my movements mechanical, focusing entirely on the metal beneath my feet and not the yawning void below.
The first few steps aren’t so bad. The structure is solid underfoot, the safety cable reassuring beneath my gloved hands. But as I move further out, away from the solid rock of the mesa, the reality of my position becomes impossible to ignore.
There are four hundred feet of empty air beneath me.
The world drops away on both sides, nothing but a thin ribbon of metal between me and oblivion. Each step reverberates through the structure, sending tiny tremors up my legs. The desert floor below is a patchwork of reds and browns, so distant it almost doesn’t look real, like I’m suspended over a painting rather than actual earth.
The wind is stronger now, tugging at my clothes, whistling through the rungs. Each gust makes the Stairway shudder slightly, a movement that travels up through my bones and makes my teeth clench. My mouth goes desert-dry, heart hammering so hard I can feel it in my fingertips where they grip the safety cable.
My vision narrows, the edges blurring—that same light-headedness from the lookout point, but stronger now, moreinsistent. The horizon seems to tilt, the far mesa rising and falling as if the whole landscape is breathing.
My palms are slick with sweat inside my gloves, and despite the safety harness, I feel as if I’m one misstep away from plummeting into the abyss.
Mads,I think desperately,I need you. Now would be a great time to make an appearance.
I take another step, and another, the world narrowing to just the rung in front of me, the safety cable under my hands, the pounding of my pulse.
The light-headedness intensifies, a rushing in my ears drowning out Mike’s instructions from ahead, and Domhnall’s concerned questions from behind.
My limbs feel leaden and weightless at the same time, as if I might float away if not for the counterbalance of pure terror anchoring me to the metal beneath my feet.
This is it. It has to be.
The fear is so pure, so overwhelming—surely it’s enough to break through whatever barrier is keeping Mads from me.
