Reid draws a full breath and pulls himself upward. Every instinct he has prods him to go faster, climb harder, to claw and fight his way to the top, but he forces himself to take his time. It is the hardest thing he has ever done, but if he falls again, he is dead.
The hunters are near, but he has no way of knowing how near. The night air is deceptive, the mouth of the hole sending back echoes and lies. While his mind shrieks at him to hurry, he whispers back to it, I have lots of time.
He doesn't. They'll be on him in seconds. But it helps just enough to keep his pace steady, to still the shaking in his limbs so he can hang on and give him the boost he needs to reach the top of the hole again.
Time goes so slowly around him, pinching him between anxious fingers, squeezing the air from
