The wind bit at your faces, cold and relentless, as you carefully navigated the narrow path carved along the rocky cliffside.

Abby was tense. No, terrified. Her usual confident, commanding demeanor was completely absent.

“Holy shit! I’m gonna fall!” Abby blurted, her voice louder than she intended, her panic echoing off the rocks. Her body pressed flat against the mountain as though she could somehow merge with it. She looked over her shoulder, caught a glimpse of the drop below, and squeezed her eyes shut.

You stopped a few feet ahead, turning to face her. “Abby, don’t look down,” you said firmly. “Focus on me, okay? One step at a time.”

But Abby didn’t budge. Her grip tightened against the stone as if her very life depended on it. Her knuckles were white, her face pale beneath her freckles. “I can’t do this,” she muttered, her voice cracking. “Just fucking leave me here!”

You sighed, exasperation bleeding into your concern. Abby Anderson, the same woman who could take down a group of Infected with nothing but a pipe and her bare hands, was frozen in fear.

“Abby, don’t be ridiculous,” you said, keeping your tone calm but firm. “You got this. Just a few more steps. You’ve done harder shit than this. Trust me.”

Her eyes opened a fraction, but she didn’t look at you. Instead, she kept her gaze locked on the rough surface of the mountain. “Harder shit doesn’t involve falling to my death,” she snapped, though her voice lacked its usual bite.

Slowly, she shifted her foot forward, testing the ground beneath her.

“See? You’re fine,” you said.

Abby let out a nervous laugh, her voice thick with sarcasm. “Yeah, sure. Fine. I’m just having the time of my life up here.”

When she finally reached the next ledge—a broader, more stable section of the path—she dropped to her knees, letting out a shaky exhale. Her hands trembled as she ran them over her face. “Fuck. That was awful.”