(Malcolm's POV)
Ruben slammed the tin line against a birch. The sound was sharp but empty, fading almost immediately into the white around them. The cups clinked once more, thin and pitiful, before the wind swallowed the noise.
"It's not working," he muttered, breath forming a mist that curled and vanished. "The light's dying fast. When night hits and that thing's still out there, we're dead."
No one spoke. Snow whispered as it fell, soft enough to make the silence heavier.
Then Kyle's voice broke through it. "I'll do it," he said, too quickly, too loud for the quiet around them.
Ruben turned, disbelief in his eyes. "You'll what?"
"I'll be the bait." Kyle's tone trembled between fear and resolve. "I'm faster than any of you, more agile. If something goes wrong, I can make it back before it reaches me."
