The camera was in his hand. He raised it and filmed the tight section — the walls, the shadows, the crack in the left wall that Priya had mentioned. A fissure, maybe a metre wide, running diagonally — not a path anyone would take voluntarily, but possible, if you were being pushed.
Or pulled.
From somewhere in the ravine behind them — muffled, distant, but real — a sound. A person's voice, once, cut short. Too far away and too brief to identify the words.
Then silence.
Complete, absolute, ravine silence.
