"Aris!" I drop the wrench and spin around.
She's near the top of the outcrop. She's not falling, thank God, but she's scrambling for balance on a shelf of rock. The telemetry receiver is swinging wildly from its strap around her neck.
But the antenna …
I watch in slow motion as the metal H-antenna slips from her grasp. It bounces once on the granite shelf, flips end-over-end, and plummets.
It hits the rocks below with a sickening crunch of aluminum.
Then silence.
Aris stands frozen on the ledge, looking down. I run to the base of the cliff, breath sticking in my chest.
"Are you okay?" I yell. "Aris!"
She doesn't answer. She stares at the twisted metal in the snow.
She climbs down, clumsy and frantic, with none of the "Woodswoman" confidence. She slips twice, banging her knees against the granite, but she doesn't seem to notice.
She reaches the bottom and drops to her knees beside the antenna.
I skid to a stop next to her. "Aris, are you hurt?"
She ignores me. She reaches out with trembling hands and picks up the antenna.
It's destroyed. The central boom is snapped in half. The elements, the metal rods that actually catch the signal, are bent into pretzels. The coaxial cable connector has been sheared off completely.
"No," she whispers. "No, no, no."
"Let me see," I say, reaching for it.
She pulls it against her chest, clutching the broken metal like a wounded bird. "I broke it. I slipped. The ice … I just slipped."
"Aris, it's okay. It's just gear."
"It's not just gear!" She looks up at me, and her face is a mask of devastation that cuts me to the bone. "This is the only antenna. The spare was in the lost sled. Without this, we can't track the collar."
She looks at the receiver box hanging around her neck. "We can't hear the ping. We can't find him. We can't trigger the release."
She drops the antenna in the snow and buries her face in her hands. "I ruined it. I ruined everything. The phone, the generator, and now this. I've failed."
"You didn't ruin the phone," I say firmly, kneeling beside her. "That was an accident. This was an accident."
"It was arrogance!" She hits her thighs with her fists, a gesture of pure frustration. "I wanted to show off. I wanted to be the 'autonomous researcher.' And I destroyed the one thing, the only thing, that mattered."
She starts to cry. Not the quiet, polite crying she did when we found the starving herd. This is ugly, ragged sobbing. It's the sound of three years of pressure, grief, and exhaustion finally breaking through the dam.
"I promised him," she chokes out. "I promised Thaddeus. And I … I broke it."
I don't think about professional boundaries. I don't think about the "friends" agreement.
I reach out and pull her into me.
She resists for a second, her body rigid with shame, and then she collapses. She buries her face in my chest, grabbing handfuls of my jacket, and sobs.
"I've got you," I murmur, wrapping my arms around her. I press my chin to the top of her head, rocking her slightly. "I've got you, Aris. It's okay."
"It's not okay," she sobs into my coat. "It's over. The mission is over."
