Shay:
The wind tangled in my hair as we rode, strands whipping across my face like silk ribbons caught in the breeze. I could smell the desert before I could see it—dust and wildflowers and sun-scorched earth. The scent of freedom.
I pressed my chest tighter against Saint’s back, arms snug around his waist, fingers curled in the hem of his cut. My cheek rested against the patch that bore his name, and I felt the steady rhythm of his heart beneath it.
We were flying.
Not fast, not reckless—just… free.
The city had disappeared miles ago, swallowed up by the winding road behind us. The pavement stretched endlessly ahead, cracked and sun-bleached, carving its way through open land. Cacti rose like ancient sentinels from the earth, and golden hour was painting the whole damn world in fire
