At 4,000 feet, the ground stopped being a map and started being a destination. Trees became individual sparks of green. He reached for the rip cord. He pulled.

For the first ten seconds, it was chaos. He tumbled, the world a blurring kaleidoscope of gray clouds and screaming blue sky. Then, he arched his back, spread his arms, and found his "box" position. The chaos turned into a cushion.

With a roar of effort, he yanked the secondary handle. A snap like a gunshot echoed through his bones as the white silk bloomed above him. The violent jerk nearly knocked him unconscious, but then, the world went quiet again. The screaming wind became a gentle hiss.

Most people fear the fall. But Elias, drifting through the sky at 120 mph, felt a strange, chilling peace. In the fall, there are no taxes, no broken hearts, and no deadlines. There is only the wind and the countdown.

The "Freier Fall" was no longer a sport; it was a sentence. He reached for his reserve, his fingers fumbling against the freezing nylon. He looked down at the rushing green and thought of a phrase he’d heard once: “It’s not the fall that kills you; it’s the sudden stop at the end.”