Isabella spun on her heel, fuming. She didn't even know what she was mad about anymore—Cyrus' questions, his tone, his audacity. Her footwear crunched against the gravel as she stormed off, jaw tight, fists clenched.
"Do you plan on going there again?" Cyrus' voice cut through the air like a blade.
She froze mid-step.
Her spine stiffened, fingers twitching at her sides. Damn him. Of course she was going back—but she wasn't about to admit that. Not to him. Not when he was already poking into things he had no business knowing.
Still, she didn't move. Didn't look back. But she knew he saw her hesitate.
A quiet, knowing smile tugged at Cyrus' lips. He took a step forward, then another, his strides smooth and deliberate as he came to stand beside her—close enough for her to feel the warmth radiating off his body, but not close enough to touch.
"I have a way to survive on the mountain," he said softly, not looking at her. "To stay there safely for a long time."
