Feri glanced worriedly at the growing pile of mud, then at his watch. Nearly ten hours had passed since the first accident, and more than seven since Gyöngyi had been caught. The autumn sun was slowly setting.

He didn’t want to rush. He had watched her leave the gate that morning with concern. The always strong, decisive girl had suddenly become a fragile woman… He felt guilty that their first time had been painful. He didn’t consider himself impatient, and Gyöngyi wasn’t his first, but he could have finished himself… The poor girl had barely recovered from her own pain, and they hadn’t even had time to cuddle and comfort her in bed before the call came. And she had gone, even though she was bleeding.

The passage wasn’t too steep, but its floor was covered in slippery clay mud. This was helpful when pulling the professor along, but less so when she slipped back. She felt the pace was slow, though she knew she was the impatient one. She recalled an article she had read back in college. It was about tea-carrying slaves who transported fifty kilos of tea each across the Himalayas on their backs. They staggered forward with splayed legs, stopping to rest every fifth or sixth step. The journey took months, but those who didn’t follow this method died because they couldn’t handle the burden. Now, she tried to imagine herself in that situation, where they moved forward slowly, rhythmically, always a few meters at a time, always a little higher.

She trusted her decision. In dangerous situations, her instincts usually didn’t let her down. If people had managed this path half a century ago, they could do it too, even if slowly. With this thought, she climbed higher and higher until she reached a rocky hollow where the passage widened slightly.

She pulled the professor along as he crawled slowly beside her, then hauled up her bag as well. She took out water and a muesli bar. Her sandwiches had run out earlier.

“Where do you think we are?” she asked, gasping for air.

“Tired?” the man asked. She waved it off.

“A little,” she lied. She felt her arms and back aching, but she could still manage. They’d rest a bit, then keep going. She had felt this kind of fatigue before, but back then, she couldn’t cry or complain—she was the rescuer, the one who had to hold it together. There would be no problem here.

“We’re probably halfway,” Ágoston mused aloud.

“Halfway? Only?” The question was silent, unspoken. She had hoped they were at least two-thirds of the way there. She lay on her back, closed her eyes, and after a short rest, set off again. Because they had to keep moving…