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As a thank you, a stern-looking officer motioned to the towering fort behind him and, in heavily accented English, told me to have a quiet stroll inside before it got overrun by tourists.

In the distance, faint golden rays attempt to break through the clouds, nature clearly not ready for the sun to disrupt this brooding, brisk morning. I stop to take out my phone and snap a picture of a seagull spreading its wings mid-flight, bravely fighting against the frigid gust.

I wish I had my Leica with me. It’d be more meaningful to take photos for Mia with the camera she gave me.

Holding in a sigh, I turn on the panoramic view and sweep the phone from left to right, taking in the sturdy walls of the ancient fort, the limestone arches, the cannon slots, the deep blue sea peeking out in the distance.

And a lonely silhouette of a man wearing a baseball cap, sitting atop a low segment of the walls.

I freeze, then slowly lower my phone.

There’s something familiar about him.

I walk toward him, my heart skipping several beats when I take in his corded forearms straining against rolled-up sleeves and his large hands bracing the wall, as if it’s taking all his energy to keep himself upright.

He’s sitting so still, he almost looks like a statue. If it weren’t for the place being empty, I would’ve missed him.

Another icy gust hits me in my face. My nose tickles. I cover my mouth before I sneeze, but I’m too late.

The sound gives me away.

The man whips his head around and intense gray eyes, framed by deep slashes of dark brows, meet mine.

Rex.

He’s the version of him I saw on the sun deck when we first arrived. Raw magnetism. Coiled intensity. Completely opposite of the flirty persona he shows to the public.

Unbidden, I close the distance between us, drawn to him like a magnet finally finding its partner.

He doesn’t move a muscle, his face impassive except for the searing heat in his gaze.

I carefully climb onto the wall and sit next to him. Despite the few feet separating us and the icy morning air, I’m not so cold anymore. In fact, I haven’t felt this warm in a long time.

We sit there in silence. I don’t say hello or good morning to him, and likewise, he doesn’t speak to me.

We’re just two souls who aren’t supposed to be here, staring at the endless azure waves tipped in white, crashing against the rocky cliffs and sand below.

My eyes make the mistake of dipping down, and I shake when I finally notice how far up I am.

One slip and I’m dead.

My mouth dries and teeth chatter.Carpe diem. Don’t be the boring, safe twin. Embrace the rule breaker inside you. Live without fears…for yourself.

“One hundred twenty feet. Give or take,” Rex murmurs, his voice a hoarse rasp.

“C-Come again?” I curl my fingers around the limestone slab.

Look at the horizon. Don’t look down. Whatever you do, don’t look down.

“That’s how far up we are.”

“I see.”

I close my eyes. No, I don’t see. And knowing I’m perched at the edge of a twelve-plus story cliff isn’t helping my balance either.

His low chuckles drift to my ears. “You’re afraid of heights.”

And small, tight spaces, which he probably figured out from the cave fiasco. It’s why I admire Alexis, who learned to swim after a near-drowning that left her in an eight-year coma.