Book 18: Someone Else's Turn

Skye

I crash into my condo with a crack that echoes through the space, rattling the potted plants along the window where the skyline is nothing but starlight, and the ever-present aurora dancing almost as if to mock me. Tonight, it’s crimson, just like the red glare of the alarm still painting my condo in red light, but thankfully, the sound of the alarm is off, or maybe I’ve tuned it out.

I gasp several breaths. Icy pain jets up and down my spine. I’m depleted, for sure. It’s been decades since I’ve felt this kind of cold, and I live in the coldest place in our world.

But the body beneath mine is warm. Just a little bit warm.

“Alex?” I rasp, grabbing his face between my gloved hands. He’s impossibly bruised. His hair is frozen in odd angles, but his skin is soft and only slightly gray from the cold.