The Year I Stopped Being His novel Chapter 179

"Eat up, Sloane. You need to warm your core."

"Okay."

Sloane was completely drained. The moment she finished the soup, she fell into a deep sleep.

In the other tent, Diego ducked inside with his bowl. He took a sip, hissed at the scalding heat, but refused to spit it out. He swallowed it down with a pained gulp and let out a long, heavy exhale.

"Professor."

"Yeah?"

"How far do we have to go tomorrow?"

"Same distance as today."

Diego took another slow sip, cradling the warm bowl in his hands as he stared out into the pitch-black void beyond the tent flaps.

"I can handle that."

The next morning.

The sun never rose above the horizon. It was their phone alarms that finally jolted the four of them awake.

Everyone looked noticeably more exhausted than the day before. No one spoke as they silently packed their gear and set out.

Before long, the terrain beneath their boots began to shift.

It was no longer the flat, endless snowscape of yesterday. The ice here was fractured, jagged, and violently jutting outward, as if a monstrous force had pushed up from beneath and shattered the surface.

Massive shards of ice obstructed their path, some taller than a person. Their razor-sharp edges gleamed with an icy blue tint under the glare of their headlamps. The ground was a treacherous mix of broken ice and snow. Every step crunched loudly. They sank in, pulled their boots free, and immediately sank again.

Diego was at the front, his pace drastically slower. He wasn't singing anymore. He wasn't even talking. He just marched with his head bowed, his breathing growing heavier, the white plumes of his breath fogging the air in front of his light.

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