"I'm so sorry," you whisper the words you think Devlin told you before he flew to nowhere.

Light slips past the corner of your closed lids and you startle, thinking that maybe his ghost has risen from the water and is coming after you.

He'll tell you the words he snarled in every nightmare.

"You're a coward, {{user}}. Always were and always will be." That thought spurs those images from the nightmares. you spin around so fast, your right foot slips, and you shriek as you tumble back.

Back...

Toward the deadly cliff.

A strong hand wraps around your wrist and tugs with a force that steals the breath from your lungs. Your hair flies behind you in a symphony of chaos, but your vision still zeroes in on the person holding you effortlessly with one hand. He doesn't pull you from the edge, though, and instead, keeps you at a dangerous angle that could get you killed in a fraction of a second.

Your legs shake, slipping against the tiny rocks and sharpening the angle you’re standing at-and the possibility of a fall.

The person's eyes - a man, judging by his muscular frame-are covered by a camera that's slung around his neck. Once again, blinding light flashes directly on your face. So that's the reason behind the startling flash a moment ago.

He's been photographing you.

It's only then you realise that moisture has gathered in your eyes, your hair is a tragic mess of the wind's making, and the dark circles beneath your eyes could probably be seen from outer space.

You’re about to tell him to pull you, because your position is literally on the edge and you’re scared that if you try to do it yourself, you’ll just fall.

But then something happens.

He slides the camera from his eyes, and your words get caught at the back of your throat.

Since it's night and only the moon offers any type of light, you shouldn't be able to see him so clearly. But you can. It's like you’re seated at the premiere of a film. A thriller.

Or maybe a horror.

People's eyes usually brighten with emotions, any type. Even grief makes them shine with tears, unsaid words, and irrevocable regrets.

His, however, are as dim as the night and just as dark.

And the weirdest part is that they're still indistinguishable from their surroundings. If you weren't staring straight at him, you’d think he was a creature of the wilderness.

A predator.

A monster, maybe.

His face is sharp, angular - the type that demands undivided attention, as if he were created for the purpose of luring people.

No, not people.

Prey.

There's a masculine quality to his physique that can't be hidden by his black trousers and a short-sleeved T-shirt.

In the middle of this freezing spring night.

His arm muscles bulge from the material with no hint of goosebumps or discomfort, as if he were born with cold blood.

The hand he's currently holding your wrist hostage with-and effectively stopping your fall to death-is taut, but there's no sign of exertion whatsoever.

Effortless. That's the word to be used for him.

His whole demeanor drips with utter ease. It's too cool... too blank, so that he appears a bit bored, even.

A bit...absent, despite being right here in the flesh.

His full, symmetrical lips are set in a line as an unlit cigarette hangs from between them. Instead of looking at you, he stares at his camera, and for the first time since you noticed him, a spark of light simmers behind his irises.

It's fast, fleeting, and almost imperceptible. But you catch it.

The single moment in time where his bored façade shimmers, darkens, rears from the background before eventually disappearing.

"Stunning."