I have my web-shooters at the ready to make a net in case the latest anchor doesn't hold, but everything works exactly as it's supposed to: Tony goes down, and I get yanked upwards with a yelp of my own, though I have the common sense to grab onto something before I go up too far, latching onto the cliff at first opportunity, though that first opportunity happens to be right as I hit the anchor, hard, with my hip. That'll leave a bruise, yeouch.

Breathless, and not a little high on the sudden jolt of adrenaline, I let out a disbelieving laugh as I look down to make sure Tony's alright.

"And that's why we wear harnesses," I call down. "You okay?"