Cassian Pov

The rain had started to fall in earnest now cold, sharp needles pelting against my skin as if to punish me for being too late.

“Amara!” I shouted again, my voice hoarse, ragged. “Amara, where are you?!”

Only the wind answered. Taunting. Distant. I was dialing her number again, fumbling with the wet screen, my hands trembling as much from panic as from the cold. For the past thirty minutes, I had been shouting her name into the wind, chasing phantom trails and praying ...