“Okay… okay…,” I say, trying to make sense of it. “So the last time anyone is absolutely certain they saw her, she was skiing La Sorcière?”

Ani nods, turning to Carl for confirmation, who says, “That’s the size of it.”

“But La Sorcière was closed,” Topher explodes. “That was the whole fucking problem.”

The whole fucking problem is that your colleague and cofounder is missing in extreme weather conditions, I think, but I don’t say it. I am thinking about La Sorcière, about its treacherous, icy slopes, and the way the loose powder builds up on the sheet ice beneath, making every turn a throw of the dice between a painful skid and a mini avalanche. I’m thinking of its brutal moguls, hidden by the drifting snow between, and the impossibility of even seeing the icy hummocks beneath their blanket of snow, let alone judging those knee-juddering turns in bad visibility.

Most of all, I’m thinking of the sheer drop at the side of the run. A precipice lies just meters from the side of the piste in places; in conditions like this, you could simply sail off the edge into nothingness. That is why they shut La Sorcière first, out of all the runs in the resort. Not because they’re risk averse, or health and safety nuts, or don’t trust experienced skiers to navigate it. But because the twists and turns are a death trap in low visibility. But then I remind myself that the worst section of the drop is right at the start of the run, and Ani saw her skiing farther down. It’s a small comfort, but I’ll take whatever comfort I can get right now.

“Has anyone tried her mobile?” I say. Inigo nods.

“Several times. There’s no reception.”

Danny comes out of the kitchen at that point, looking royally pissed off. What about my fucking risotto? he mouths at me over the heads of the guests, and I hurry across to him.

“Eva’s missing,” I tell him in a low voice, and his expression switches instantly from irritation to concern.

“What, really missing? Not just gone AWOL?”

“I don’t know; it’s hard to tell. They’ve all acted like complete fuckwits. They split up, no one kept track of who was in which party, and Eva seems to have gone off by herself to ski La Sorcière.”

“Alone?” Danny’s jaw drops. “But, there’s a red avalanche warning. Why the hell didn’t the pisteurs shut the run?”

“Apparently they did. She must have ducked under the netting or something, or somehow got lost and traversed across to the wrong run.” Though I can’t think quite how that could have happened. There is no obvious interconnection between Blanche-Neige and La Sorcière. That’s part of the problem with the black run. It is hemmed in by a sheer cliff on one side, and a sheer drop on the other. There is no way out once you’re going down, it’s all twists and turns. “I don’t know. But Ani is pretty convinced she and Carl saw Eva skiing down it. I mean, I know she’s good, but that’s just foolhardy in weather like this.”

Danny’s face is really grave now.

“And no one’s seen her since?”

I shake my head.

“Do you think we should call the PGHM?” I ask. This is the specialist branch of mountain police who operate in the higher mountain ranges—a combination of gendarmes and mountain rescue.

“I dunno,” Danny says. He pushes his bandanna up his forehead and rubs fretfully at the furrow between his brows, trying to think. “It’s not impossible she’s just got lost and gone down the wrong route. With the lifts shut it’d take her a while to get back. I reckon they’ll tell us to give it a few hours before we panic. Should we try the ski pass office first? Maybe they can tell us if her pass has been used on any lifts?”

I want to kiss him. It’s not just a good idea, it’s a great one. But when I go to the phone in the lobby and dial the number on the back of the lift pass, I get only the insistent beep-beep signal of a busy line.

I go back to the little group huddled in the lobby, who are looking hot in their ski gear, and increasingly worried.

“We think the best thing is to check in with the lift pass office and see if Eva’s used her pass anywhere. I’ve tried phoning, but the line’s engaged, so rather than hanging around here, I think I’m going to hop down on the funicular and talk to the office in person.”

“I’ll go,” Topher says immediately.

“Do you speak French?”

I know the answer before I ask the question, and his face changes to chagrin as he shakes his head.

“I totally get why you want to help,” I say, trying to be gentle, “but I think it would be better for someone who speaks French to go. If she’s not used her pass, that’s probably the point where we need to report her missing to the police, and we’ll definitely need a fluent speaker for that. You should all change into dry clothes and get some food into you, and I’ll be back really soon. Meantime, keep trying her number.”

They all nod, soberly.

“I’d better tell Elliot,” Topher mutters, and I remember with a shock of surprise that Elliot was the only member of the group not skiing. He is still holed up in his room, presumably working on his coding update, or whatever he’s doing up there alone.

They all disperse, talking quietly under their breaths to one another, and I grab my coat from the locker and hurry back to Danny to explain the plan.

“So you’ll have to serve up alone, is that okay?”

He nods.

“Yeah, of course.”

He disappears into the kitchen to begin plating up.

I put on my coat and open the front door.

LIZ

Snoop ID: ANON101

Listening to: Offline

Snoopers: 0

Snoopscribers: 0

I am upstairs in my room changing out of my skiing clothes when it happens. At first it is just a noise, and then I feel the ground begin to shake, like an earthquake.

I turn to look out the window. I see what looks like a wall of snow coming down the valley towards us. But not a wall—that implies something solid. This is something else. A boiling mass that is air and ice and earth all rolled together.

I scream. I do the only thing I can, even though it is stupid. I fall to my knees with my arms over my head, as if that pathetic gesture might protect me.

I stay there shaking for a long time, before I dare to get up, my legs trembling. Did it miss us? Did it stop?

From far away I can hear other voices, shouts, screams, cries.

Somehow, I force my legs to work, and I stumble out into the corridor.

“Jesus Christ!” Topher is shouting. He is running towards the stairs. “What the hell just happened?”

“Erin!” I hear from below. It is a bellow of fear from a voice I don’t recognize, and then I realize—it is the chef, Danny, calling for his friend. “Erin!”

The corridor is full of terrified people. There is a smoke alarm going off, shouts of panic.

Down in the lobby the chef is struggling with the front door, which has cracked and bowed beneath the weight of packed snow pressed up against it.

“Don’t open the bloody door!” Topher yells. “You’ll let all the snow in!”

Danny turns on him. His face is full of fury.