The pack dropped. My brain ran the numbers in less than a second, distance to the ground, current speed, time before impact. None of the numbers were good.
I couldn't use the vines. They were anchored into the mountain wall, and if I Switched anything out of the rock I'd be pulling the only thing keeping us attached to the side of a cliff. I couldn't use the rocks either for the same reason. I needed something with no structural consequence, something small, something I had on me.
I yanked a hair from my head. I held the strand between two fingers, barely visible, and locked onto the falling pack. My spatial sense stretched toward it, mapping the volume, the shape, the speed of the fall. It was already well below me and accelerating.
The mental boxes formed. The hair, the pack.
Switch.
The hair disappeared. The pack kept falling.
