Because it did.
I measured the time by the growing shadows and shifting sunlight, and the knot of dread tightened in my chest.
With nothing else to do, I sat with my back against the tree trunk and waited.
And waited.
He should be back by now, shouldn't he?
How long had it been?
Two hours. Three?
The sky began to change. Oranges bled into purples. Blue leached away, becoming darker and more ominous. Beautiful and terrible all at once.
The sun was setting.
And a different kind of cold crept into my bones, one that had nothing to do with temperature. What if Mitch didn't find Zeus? What if he got lost? What if he passed out from dehydration like I had, while I sat here under this tree doing nothing?
Oh, God. What if he doesn't come back at all?
I shook the thought away and stood, focusing on the fire. My hands trembled as I arranged smaller sticks around the large branch he'd left me, piling dried grass and twigs beside it.
I tugged his lighter from my shorts pocket and flicked it once. Twice. The flame caught on the third try, and I touched it to the dried grass. The fire took hold immediately, crackling to life.
As I pulled the rest of my foraged twigs and leaves closer, the last gasp of sunlight vanished.
Darkness swallowed everything beyond the small circle of firelight. The temperature plummeted so fast it stole my breath. One moment I was sweating, the next shivering.
I huddled closer to the tree, knees to chin, making myself small. Mitch's shirt hung loose on my frame, and I wrapped it tighter around my shoulders. The fabric retained his scent. Sweat and smoke and an earthiness that made my chest ache.
His kiss flooded my mind. The way his hands had tangled in my hair. The desperation in how he'd held me. The way his embrace had felt like goodbye.
My teeth chattered, and I fed another stick to the fire while sparks spiraled into the black sky. The flames pushed back the darkness a fraction. But beyond that, I couldn’t see a damn thing. Just an impenetrable wall of night.
Where is he?
Oh, God. Without his lighter, he couldn't start a fire. He was out there in the pitch black.
Guilt crawled up my throat. Mitch was out there alone because of me. Because I'd gotten heat stroke. Because of my blisters. Because I was weak, slow, and a liability.
What if that kiss was the last time I ever?—
No. Stop it.
Mitch was SAS-trained. He knew survival. He knew the bush.
He'd promised he'd come back.
I sat in the dark, his shirt wrapped around me, wishing his arms were instead. I missed him. Not just for the warmth. I missed him. I cared about him. When had that happened? He fascinated me in a way that made no sense for two people who barely knew each other.
The fire crackled as I fed it another stick.
A noise rumbled through the darkness.
I froze. What was that? The wind? Was my imagination playing tricks?
“Mitch! Is that you?”