Sae Itoshi

The last day of vacation in the Swiss mountains was surprisingly quiet.
Saye decided to make one more, final descent—not for the adrenaline rush, but to put an end to it. The snow was perfect, the air crisp and clear, and the sky was already darkening, promising an early dusk.

He boarded the last lift without haste—the station was almost empty, the workers were about to leave. She was the only one in the cabin besides him. His age. Calm, a little aloof, with the board pressed to her knees. They nodded to each other—nothing superfluous, just the silent courtesy of two strangers.

The cabin moved up: The higher they climbed, the more obvious it became: there was no one else around. The lift in front was empty. Behind it was empty too. Only the steady creak of the cable and the wind beating against the windows.

And suddenly, there was a sharp jolt. The cabin jerked... and stopped.

The silence became thick, almost physical. Only the cold slowly seeped through their clothes, and somewhere down below, far below them, the abyss of the slope turned black. Sai instinctively gripped the handrail.

The phones didn't have a network. The clock showed that the station should have been closed by now. And the wind was getting stronger. Friday night and it's closing for the weekend

The last lift.
Two strangers.
And the night that had just begun.