The Fall

Wee-woo! Wee-woo!

The frantic wail of an ambulance sliced through the serene mountain air, a jarring intrusion on nature's peace. Below, a cluster of teenagers huddled by the roadside, their faces pale masks of shock and fear. They waved urgently as the vehicle screeched to a halt, kicking up a cloud of dust.

The back doors flew open. "Lead the way," a paramedic barked, his voice all business as he and his partner unloaded a stretcher.

A boy with trembling hands pointed a shaky finger towards a narrow dirt path leading off the main trail. "Th-This way! Hurry, please!"

The medical team moved with practiced efficiency, their heavy boots crunching on the gravel as they followed the path. The group of teens trailed behind them, a silent, mournful procession. The path opened into a small clearing, and there, they found her.

Aurora Reid lay broken on the ground, a stark contrast to the vibrant girl she had been just an hour before. A dark, crimson pool had seeped into the dirt around her, staining the earth. Her climbing gear—harness askew, ropes tangled—looked like a mockery of the safety it was supposed to provide.

They rushed to her side. One paramedic checked for a pulse in her neck while the other shone a light into her eyes. "Pulse is weak and thready," he said, his voice low. Her body was a canvas of brutal injuries; deep gashes marred her arms and legs, and blood trickled from a nasty cut on her forehead. Most alarming was the blood that had oozed from her nose and the corner of her mouth, a telltale sign of severe internal trauma.

"Let's move, now! Carefully with her spine," the lead paramedic instructed. They worked quickly, securing her neck in a brace and lifting her limp form onto the stretcher. She was a dead weight, a terrifying stillness to her that made the teenagers whimper.

Just as the ambulance doors were closing, a police car arrived. Two officers stepped out, their sharp eyes taking in the scene. "What do we have?" the senior one, Officer Miller, asked.

One of the students, a girl named Chloe, hugged herself tightly. "A-Aurora fell from the cliff," she stammered, her voice barely a whisper.

Officer Miller looked up, his gaze tracing the jagged rock face. It was rough, unforgiving terrain. "When did this happen? Walk me through it."

Another teen, Mark, found his voice. "About thirty minutes ago. We didn't even hear a scream. We just... we lost sight of her for a minute behind some trees. Then, nothing. Sarah was taking pictures from up there, and she... she spotted her down here." He pointed to a girl who was sobbing quietly into her friend's shoulder. "I called for the ambulance right away."

"You did the right thing," Officer Miller said, jotting notes. "Were you all here hiking?"

"No," Ronald, a lanky boy, spoke up. "It's for a school assignment. Aurora was our group leader. She's the best rock climber out of all of us—probably the best in the whole school. She suggested we document a real climb. We've all done indoor climbing at the club, but this... this was our first time on a real mountain."

Another added, "She told us she'd been here before, that she knew a safe route. We were supposed to be monitoring her from the trail, but she moved past that big outcrop," he pointed, "and we lost visual. We walked ahead to try to see her again, and that's when we realized she was gone. We started searching and... we found her like this."

Officer Miller finished his notes and walked over to his colleague. "Looks like a tragic accident. Teenagers, a dangerous hobby... they think they're invincible. She must have grabbed a loose rock or slipped."

The other officer opened his mouth to agree, but a new voice, cold and sharp as the mountain air, cut through their assumptions.

"It wasn't an accident."

The officers turned. A teenage boy was standing rigidly a few feet away; his eyes fixed on the dark stain on the ground where Aurora had lain. He was handsome, with a strong jaw now clenched tight, and sun-tanned skin that spoke of countless days spent outdoors. His messy brown locks were damp with sweat, partly obscuring eyes that burned with a furious, gut-wrenching intensity. He was dressed not in climbing gear but in a simple white T-shirt, khaki pants, and boots, as if he'd rushed here from somewhere else.

"Who are you?" Officer Miller asked, his tone shifting from sympathetic to scrutinizing.

The boy didn't look away from the bloodstain. "Maximilian Damson," he said, the name sounding like a vow. "I'm Aurora's friend." Her best friend. Her protector. The words hung unspoken in the air, heavy with his failure. "I know her better than anyone. She wouldn't have slipped. It hasn't rained for weeks; the grips are dry. Aurora knows every inch of these rocks. She could climb this route in her sleep. This wasn't an accident."

"Were you here? Did you see what happened?" the officer probed, skeptical.

Max's gaze finally snapped towards the ambulance now pulling away, its siren starting up again. His heart hammered against his ribs, a frantic counter-rhythm to the siren's wail. The image of her being loaded inside, so still and small, was seared into his mind.

"No. I got a text and came as fast as I could," he answered, his voice tight. He couldn't stand here and debate. Every second felt like a betrayal. Without another word, he turned and broke into a run, his boots pounding against the asphalt as he chased after the disappearing ambulance, determined to follow it to the hospital.

As Max left, Jacob stepped forward, his face earnest. "Sir, he's right. My name is Jacob. The three of us grew up together. We've been climbing these rocks every summer since we were kids. Aurora mapped this specific route herself—she called it her 'warm-up.' She knew this route like the back of her hand. For someone like her to fall... there's no way it was just an accident. Please, you have to investigate this."

The two officers exchanged a long, silent glance. The certainty in both boys' voices was undeniable. Officer Miller sighed, closing his notepad with a definitive snap.

"Alright, fellas," he said, his voice now grave. "We'll treat this as a potential crime scene until we know otherwise. No one else goes up there. We're going to need formal statements from every single one of you."