My voice cracks on the last word, and to my horror, I feel tears welling up again. It’s all too much—the lost earring, the unnervingly attractive alien refusing to let me leave, the growing fear that I might never see Jacqui or home again.

“Please,” I say, the fight draining out of me. “Just let me go.”

For a long moment, he stares at me, those golden eyes searching my face as if he’s trying to decipher what I’m feeling. Then, with a sound that reminds me of a long-suffering sigh, he steps aside.

Relief floods through me. “Thank you,” I breathe, hurrying past him before he can change his mind.

I step out of the cave, squinting in the bright morning sunlight, ready to begin the long trek back to where I last saw the others.

And that’s when the world seems to fall away beneath my feet.

“Holy shit!”

I scramble backward, nearly colliding with the alien who’s followed me out. My hands find the rough stone of the cave entrance, gripping it for support as I stare out at…nothing. Just open air and a drop that makes my stomach lurch.

We’re not on the ground. Not even close. The cave is set into the side of a towering rock formation, a jagged spire that rises hundreds of feet above the desert floor. Below us stretches an endless sea of sand, rippling like water in the morning light. The sun is just cresting the horizon, painting the desert in shades of gold and amber, and from this height, I can see for miles in every direction.

It’s breathtaking. And terrifying.

“We’re on a cliff,” I say, my voice barely above a whisper. “A really, really high cliff.”

I turn to the alien, who’s watching me with that intensity again.

“You carried me up here,” I realize. “Last night. When we were running from those things. I felt you climbing, but I didn’t realize we were going up a freaking mountain.”

He makes that rumbling sound again, and now I’m certain it’s the alien equivalent of a chuckle.

“This isn’t funny!” But even as I say it, a hysterical laugh bubbles up in my throat. “Oh my god, I was about to waltz right off a cliff.”

I peer over the edge again, trying to see a path down. There’s nothing but sheer rock face, with occasional ledges and outcroppings that might be handholds for someone with claws and superhuman strength, but certainly not for a clumsy human like me.

“Okay,” I say, trying to keep the panic from my voice. “Okay. This is…this is a problem. A big problem. I need to get down from here, but unless you’ve got a parachute hidden somewhere—which, let’s be honest, would look ridiculous on you—I’m going to need your help.”

The alien tilts his head, watching me with that intense focus that still makes my skin prickle.

“Do you understand? I need to go.” I point down at the desert floor, then at myself. “Me. Go. Down. To find my people.”

He doesn’t move, doesn’t react. Just keeps staring at me with those unnerving golden eyes.

“Okay, let’s try something else.” I take a deep breath and resort to the universal language of desperate humans—charades. I point to myself, then down at the ground far below. When he doesn’t react, I frown. “Fuck this.” Crouching down, I resort to my less-than-stellar art skills and start drawing in the thin layer of sand near the cave entrance.

With my finger, I sketch out a crude landscape—a wavy line for the horizon, the spiry shape of the rock formation that I’d set out to reach first, and a stick figure with wild hair that’s supposed to be me. I point to the stick figure, then to myself, then to the rock formations.

“I need to go there,” I say slowly, tapping the drawing. “Back to where I came from. To my friends. You know, other people like me? Smaller than you, not glowy, probably sunburned and freaking out right now?”

The alien crouches beside me, studying my childlike drawing with such intense focus that I half expect him to critique my artistic skills. His expression shifts, his brow furrowing in what looks like confusion. Or is it disgust? Anger? It’s hard to tell with a face that’s not quite human.

“Please,” I try again. “I need your help to get down from here.”

He makes a sound—harsher than before, almost like a snarl—rises and turns away from me, heading back toward the cave entrance.

“Hey!” I follow after him. “Don’t you walk away from me! You brought me up here. You’re responsible for getting me down!”

He stops so suddenly I nearly run into his back. When he turns to face me, there’s something new in his expression—something that makes me take an involuntary step backward.

“Okay,” I say, holding up my hands in a placating gesture. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to offend you or whatever alien cultural taboo I just stepped on. But you have to understand—I’m trapped up here. I can’t climb down on my own. I’ll die.”

His expression softens slightly, but he makes no move to help.

“Fine,” I mutter, running a hand through my tangled hair. “Just great. Saved from heat exhaustion only to die of starvation on a cliff with an alien who suddenly decides to be useless.”

I pace along the narrow ledge outside the cave, frustration building with each step. “This is ridiculous. I don’t know why I thought this would work. ‘Oh, let’s try to reason with the seven-foot alien predator who can’t understand a word I’m saying.’ Brilliant plan, Justine. Really stellar work.”

I’m freaking out and I know it.

Problem is, I can’t stop.

Meanwhile, the alien watches my ranting with something that almost looks like awestruck amusement, and that just makes me angrier.

“You think this is funny? You⁠—”

I don’t get to finish the sentence because suddenly the world tilts around me. Strong arms scoop me up, and before I can process what’s happening, I’m cradled against a broad chest, my feet dangling in the air.

“What are you—put me down!” I squirm in his grasp, but it’s like trying to move a mountain. “I swear, if you don’t⁠—”

He turns, carrying me to the edge of the cliff, and I get a dizzying view of the drop below.

“No, no, no! What are you doing? Don’t you dare⁠—”

His grip tightens, securing me against his chest, and he looks down at me with what I swear is a mischievous glint in those golden eyes.

“If you throw me off this cliff, I swear I will come back and haunt you for the rest of your glowy alien existence!”

He makes that rumbling sound again—definitely laughter—and then, without warning, he just…steps off the edge.

I scream. I scream like I’ve never screamed before, a sound that tears from my throat as we plummet through open air. My arms lock around his neck in a death grip, my face buried against his chest.

This is it. This is how I die. Not from heat exhaustion or alien predators, but from being thrown off a cliff by a lunatic alien who thought it would be funny.

Except…we’re not falling. Not really.

I risk opening one eye, then the other, and what I see doesn’t make sense. We’re moving down the cliff face, but in controlled bounds—leaping from one tiny outcropping to another with impossible grace. Each landing is smooth, barely a jolt, before he launches us toward the next foothold.

It’s like watching a mountain goat navigate a sheer cliff, except this “goat” is carrying a terrified human. The inhuman strength of his grip is impossible to ignore—those powerful arms holding me against him with a pressure that’s somehow both gentle and unyielding. His hands are firm, confident, effortlessly supporting my weight as if I’m nothing more than a child’s doll. It’s terrifying and yet…strangely reassuring.

“Oh my god,” I breathe, my heart still pounding so hard I can feel it in my throat. “You’re insane. You are actually insane.”

He makes that rumbling sound again, and this time I can feel it vibrate through his chest where I’m pressed against him.

“This isn’t funny!” But even as I say it, a hysterical laugh bubbles up inside me, too. “I don’t know what I imagined when I asked you to take me down, but it wasn’t this! ”