Elias lay flat at the lip of the hole, gloves on the ice, face down to the icy water.
His brain was telling him that cold was burning through his cheekbone, even if he didn't feel it. But no matter what his head said, he didn't move.
Zubair was stretched out beside him, one hand on the frame they'd set, the other ready on the throw loop.
Alexei took the flank, knees wide, weight spread, a second loop racked and ready. The wind worked at the edges, trying to skin over what the water had broken. Frost stitched lace inward a millimeter at a time. Every minute they lost here made the next minute worse.
"Hold," Zubair murmured.
Elias kept his eyes on the dark. He'd lost track of time; the second hand in his head had gotten unreliable since the bite. Numbers tried to line up and refused. The hiss inside him paced and pressed like an animal in a cage.
Up. They're coming. Stop counting. Watch.
