Nora’s fingers tightened against the stone. “That wasn’t rock.” “No,” Ethan agreed. His mouth felt dry. “It really wasn’t.” They stayed pressed close to the cliff, listening. The sound didn’t repeat, which somehow made it worse. Rock made noise when it shifted. Birds made noise. Even falling debris made sense. This didn’t. It sounded enclosed. Hollow. Close.
Nora leaned her forehead briefly against the stone, steadying her breath. “There’s nothing up here,” she said, more to herself than to him. “There can’t be.” Ethan was about to answer when something else caught his eye. A thin streak ran down the face of the wall just below his left hand. Pink. Not rust-red. Not brown. A pale, diluted pink, glossy where it caught the light.