63. Mireille

The next few weeks were successful. The pack's hangovers were endured, work rotas picked up as normal. The temperature lowering allowed tempers to cool alongside, the general atmosphere was that of being able to see the finish line.

If anyone did talk out of line or grumble, they were shot down by their own friends. Nobody wanted to rock the boat. A sack of gold bigger than they ever envisaged hangs just out of their grasp. Sven was an ardent reporter, so keen to prove his trust.

Cyrus and I spent every night together. I am his angel. He is my everything. The world only makes sense when I am near enough to fill my head with his rosemary scent.

We should be so happy. We’re practically safe, looking ahead to spring. Except he is having increasing periods where he is in his own head. Surlier, quieter than even I’m used to.

For every blissful night we spend together, he seems to curse himself with guilt. When Raze ruled Cyrus brood without discovery for hours on end and get it out of