pageturner ( inga, day 1

She loses them just past the tree line.

Panting, turned around, kicking at the snow, there's a cold sweat forming on her back.

She could scream.

Just hours in, and it's already going downhill. She's already making a mess of it. And isn't that just perfect. Isn't that just like her.

Never give the responsibility to Inga, never trust her with the important stuff. Never, ever put your faith in her. Of course not. All of that goes to Hans. All of that goes to Lieke, or to Vincent even. Quiet little Inga could never nearly be as capable as her siblings. Better pass her over. Better leave her to her muddy shoes and her tangled hair and her target range.

She doesn't have to be prissy and prim to be a career. She's proven that countless times over. It's just that now she feels like an idiot, standing here in the cold while the trees shake.

It's alien. Someone else's knife in her fist. Dwarfed by the landscape. She doesn't feel like any kind of career.

That must be the cue.

The parachute is almost indistinguishable from the grey-white of the sky. The only thing telling Inga it's falling is the steady beep beep beep of the canister getting louder. The outline of it seems to disappear in a flurry, and then the parachute strings get caught halfway up the far tower, where the entire thing tangles and sags like a sadly deflating balloon.

Inga hesitates.

It could be a trap, but.

Well.

High ground - that's just what she asked for.