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FIFTY | MIST
There was a light, somewhere deep within, shining through the fog and reaching towards me. It was a reminder, though I could not draw myself away from Cyrus’s lips for long enough to register it.
But it continued to nag and, eventually, I peeled myself away. Gasping for breath, I placed a hand on his chest to steady myself. Similarly dishevelled, he smiled down at me.
“Am I forgiven?” He asked, his voice dark and teasing.
I scoffed, but I was grinning, too. The push and pull of duty and (potentially fatal) attraction toyed with me, and I found that touching him was the opposite of grounding. Reluctantly, I slipped my hand away.
The water roared behind us, frothing at the mouth as it tumbled into the darkness below. Up here, it was timeless: the sun hadn’t managed to break through the cloud cover, and the constant grey made it impossible to know if it was morning, noon, dusk, o
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