Places where finishing mattered—not for bragging rights, but because stopping halfway meant something had gone wrong. They trusted their judgment enough now to push through discomfort instead of backing away from it. When a friend mentioned a quiet limestone face a few hours out of town—a place he’d climbed years ago, it felt right. Unrated. Uncrowded.
“This feels like the one,” Ethan had said, not bothering to hide the nerves this time. Nora didn’t laugh it off. She checked her pack, tightened the straps, then looked up at the cliff again. “Then we finish it,” she said simply. They parked beneath the wall that morning with a tight, focused energy between them. No jokes. No second-guessing.