"Before the trip, who was in charge of checking the gear?" Alex continued.

"Usually Damon and Ken. Ken was the photographer, so he kept a close eye on the equipment."

Alex's stare cut into me. He didn't look angry, but the pressure in his gaze felt like a weight pressing on my chest.

"Strange, isn't it? You woke up and everyone else was dead. In all that time, you didn't notice anything off. The dashcam card's gone, but you have no clue where it went. It's like…" He paused, his voice flat. "It's like the only thing you know for sure is that you're alive. You draw a blank about everything else."

I stared back, scared and lost, my voice shaking when I finally spoke, "I was out cold from altitude sickness. I can't even drive. I swear I don't know where the dashcam stuff is."

Alex didn't push any further then. The bodies were taken away. There was too much work waiting.

They brought me back to the little station they'd set up in town.

The stove in the corner glowed hot, wood popping and crackling, but no matter how close I sat, the heat never seemed to reach me.

Hours later, Alex walked in again. He set a camera down on the table in front of me—Ken's DSLR. It was his baby. But now it was smeared with dirt and scratches.

"Listen to this."

He pressed play. His eyes stayed locked on me, watching for the tiniest flinch.

The audio was rough, full of static and wind, but the voices cut through.

At first, it was just gasps and choking, somebody gagging. Then Damon's voice, broken and raw, rang out.

"Argh! I can't breathe! Open the window! Open the stupid window!"

A series of dull thuds followed, like someone pounding the door controls.

Then I heard Charlie, his voice shaking, almost cracking. "It's not working! It's locked! The controls aren't responding! Damon… Damon, what's happening to you?!"

Russ's scream split the chaos. "It's his heart! He's seizing! Damon's seizing! Ken—use your phone! No signal?! Somebody, help!"

The noise swelled, but I could make out Ken's heavy breathing and the click and shuffle of him fumbling with his camera—maybe trying to use the light, or… desperate to record what was happening.

In the background, Mike's voice was barely there, a weak whisper. "So… so cold…"

And then, in the last 15 seconds—over the panic and fading breaths—Ken's voice tore through, ragged and wild, as if he'd used up every last ounce of strength just to scream.

"Hannah! Wake up! Wake up now! Look what you did!"

-

The recording cut with a buzzing sound.

Silence crashed over the room again, broken only by the steady crackle of the fire.

My mind went blank. Ken's final scream echoed in my head on repeat, as if it was carved into my bones.

"I didn't know," I whispered, shaking. "I was asleep the whole time. I didn't hear any of that."

Alex leaned in, his voice even heavier than before. "Ken's camera was on, sitting in his lap. That recording started at 1:33 AM and ended at 1:46 AM. In their final minutes, they were all calling your name."

The weight of his words pressed down on me until I couldn't breathe.

"Especially Ken," Alex said. "He seemed to believe you knew exactly what was happening, that you caused it. What do you have to say to that?"

"I don't know!" The words shot out of me, sharper than I realized, almost cutting my own throat.

"I was asleep! When I woke up, they were already gone! I don't know why he'd say that. I didn't do anything! He was yelling at me to wake up, too, wasn't he?!"

Alex must've noticed how shaken I was, because his voice softened a little. "Alright. Let me ask you another way. You said you heard someone calling your name, but you couldn't tell if it was real or a dream. Can you explain that?"

It felt as if all the strength had drained right out of me. I leaned back in the chair, my voice barely hanging on. "It was like… someone was pulling me, shaking me, telling me to wake up. Everything was loud and messy, and I felt awful. My head was heavy, like I was stuck in some dream I couldn't climb out of."

Alex picked up the camera again, his tone so low that it chilled me. "Did it ever cross your mind that maybe it wasn't a dream? That they were actually begging you to wake up, and you never did?"

A shiver ripped down my spine, cold as ice.

The blurry flashes from my dream suddenly came back, sharp and real. I saw Damon's face twisted in pain, pressed against the steering wheel. I saw Mike's skin pale as paper. I saw Ken, lifting his camera in the dark with the last bit of strength he had, pointing it at me, his eyes full of rage and accusation I couldn't understand.

"Why didn't you wake up?" Alex's words stabbed right through the fog in my head.

"They drank the same alcohol you did. They were sick from the altitude, too. And yet every single one of them woke up. Every single one—except you. You stayed under, like nothing could wake you up." His voice cut harder.

"Altitude sickness doesn't knock you out cold like that. Otherwise, you would've died of suffocation. So why? Why were they shouting your name, shaking you, desperate for you to wake up, while you slept through all of it? Why did you not realize they were dying?"

Yeah. Why didn't I wake up? Why was I the only one alive?

What really happened while I was asleep?

The questions spun in my head, heavy with a fear I couldn't push away. My chest tightened as panic rose in my heart.

"How did you get to know them?" Alex asked next. His stare hadn't softened.

I took a slow breath, trying to steady myself. "We met online, in a hiking group. We talked a bit before the trip. On the road, we got along okay. Damon was the experienced one, so we let him lead. Ken was always snapping photos. Charlie and Russ were the lively ones. Mike… he was weaker, but easygoing."

"Any conflicts? Even small ones?"

I hesitated. "Yesterday, at the checkpoint, my border pass photo had an issue. It held us up for, like, 20 minutes. Damon wasn't happy. He called me dead weight. Things were tense for a moment, but it blew over."

"And the others? How'd they react?"

"Charlie smoothed things over. Russ didn't say much. Ken was fiddling with his camera. And Mike wasn't feeling well, probably asleep. I didn't pay much attention."

Alex leaned forward. "Did they treat you differently? Like shutting you out? Maybe even isolating you?"

I went quiet.

Memories I'd pushed aside crept back. Every time I suggested a route, nobody listened. When food was handed out, my portion always came last. In group photos, I always ended up shoved to the edge. I hadn't wanted to call it isolation, but… maybe that was exactly what it was.

Alex noticed my silence and pulled out an evidence bag. Inside was Ken's phone. He swiped to a chat group named "Squad 296". It was a temporary one, just for the trip.

There, on the screen, was a message timestamped 12:15 AM.

Damon wrote, [Stay sharp. Once we get through the pass, we'll be in the clear. I'll drive the second half. If that girl's still out of it, just let her sleep through the whole thing. Can't expect her to be any help. She's dead weight.]

There were a few short replies under Damon's message.

Charlie wrote, [OK.]

Russ replied, [Got it.]

And Ken typed, [Alright.]

Ten minutes later, they drove straight into that deadly stretch of road.

Thirty minutes after that, the recording started.

I couldn't take my eyes off the words "that girl", "let her sleep through the whole thing", and "dead weight". My whole body went cold.

So that was what I was to them. To Damon, I wasn't a teammate. I was nothing but baggage.

My lips were pressed so tightly that they turned pale.

Alex slid a tablet across the table toward me. "Did you know you guys actually had two group chats?"

I looked up, confused.

"One was the all-team chat—the one with you, Damon, Ken, everyone. That one was for planning routes, splitting costs, all that."

He tapped the tablet. "But this one here, the one I just showed you—that was their private chat group. That's where they talked trash about you and made plans. You really mean to tell me you never noticed how they felt about you?"

The glow of the screen lit my face, which carried a blank expression.

Of course, I'd noticed.

Back when we were in Stonevale, looking for a place to stay, the cheap hostel didn't have enough beds. Charlie had joked in the chat, [Having a girl on the team just makes things complicated. Why don't we handle it like last time? Could even be fun again…]

And that night, when I was dizzy from the altitude, falling behind by about 30 feet, I heard Damon whisper to Ken, "If she slows us down one more time, we'll just deal with her at the next stop."

I didn't know exactly what they meant, but I didn't miss the malice in their eyes.

"Hannah, did you ever get mad at them?" Alex asked, sliding the tablet away. His gaze sharpened, studying me.

My voice came out raw. "Yeah."

"But not just mad. Did you ever, even just for a second, wish something bad would happen to them? Or that this whole messed-up trip would just end, maybe even gruesomely?"

His words cut straight through me, ripping open feelings I'd been trying hard to bury.

I jerked my head up, meeting his calm, piercing stare.

"Yes, I hated the way they treated me. But I never hurt them! Don't put this on me just because you can't find the real killer!"

Alex let out a low, cold laugh. "But I have proof you're not innocent."

He pulled out a photo, printed from Ken's camera. It was from the picnic by Blackmoor Lake.

I was off to the side, sitting on a rock, hugging my knees inside a bulky jacket. I wasn't smiling, my eyes drifting somewhere else.

Meanwhile, the others were crowded on the picnic blanket, all tight and happy together. Damon was raising a bottle, Ken was throwing up a peace sign, and Charlie and Russ were fighting over a cookie, while Mike dozed under a blanket.

They were the center of the frame—close, alive, having fun.

And me? I looked like some stranger who just happened to wander into the shot.

"You claimed you knocked out early, around 10 PM. But this picture was taken after 11 PM. Which means you were right there with them. You weren't asleep at all.

"You've been lying this whole time. You killed them!"