My body betrayed me. I looked.
I threw myself forward.
Xaden Riorson stood directly above me, his hand extended. Not in mercy. In curiosity. Fourth Wing
The wind hit first—a living thing that tried to shove me sideways. I leaned into it, letting my hips find the rhythm of the sway. No rail. No rope. Just the slick hiss of my boots on wet rock.
I stepped onto the stone.
“It’s cold,” I lied.
I collapsed to my knees, heaving.
Xaden crouched down until his face was level with mine. Up close, his eyes weren't black—they were the deep, violent violet of a brewing storm.
You don’t belong here.
I smiled.