If water was leaking out of the mountain, even slowly, it could mean slick holds. Washed chalk. No friction. No margin for error. Backtracking wasn’t an option anymore. They were well past the halfway point. They climbed on. Carefully now, deliberately avoiding the damp streaks. Ethan shifted his route to keep his hands dry, testing each hold twice before trusting it.
Chalk clung less reliably here, the air faintly cooler, faintly damp. Above them, the sound came again. This time it wasn’t just wood. A murmur. Low and indistinct, like someone speaking under their breath. Not loud enough to form words, but unmistakably human. Ethan’s heart hammered. “Did you hear—” A sudden thud cut him off. Sharp. Solid.