They had dressed for glittering selfies against snow-dusted peaks, not for sprinting through smoke and screams. Those who survived remember grabbing strangers’ hands, following a single voice in the dark, or throwing themselves through shattered glass just to feel the bite of mountain air. Outside, people stood barefoot in the snow, wrapped in foil blankets, staring at a building that still crackled and hissed.

In the days after, the posters for New Year’s packages were torn down, replaced by condolence notices and missing-person photos that no longer needed updating. Questions hardened into anger: overcrowded rooms, blocked exits, ignored warnings. Investigators will eventually name the cause, assign the blame, file the reports. But for the parents who still set a place at the table, for the friends who cannot bear a countdown anymore, the disaster in Crans-Montana is not a headline. It is the night their world stopped.