Frozen Lies, Pink Truth

Cold, biting wind whipped across my face.

I gasped, my eyes snapping open.

In front of me was a blindingly white ski slope, and a man stood right in my face, holding up his phone.

He was gripping a ski pole, and caught on its sharp metal tip was a shred of pink fiber.

I looked down at my left arm.

My professional-grade ski jacket had been ripped open, leaving a long, nasty gash that exposed the high-tech insulation layer inside.

### 1

The man angled his phone camera directly at my face.