Strong and silent was exactly how Sabriel liked her men, and also how she liked her coffee.

To be fair, Sabriel also liked her men loud, witty, skinny, bulky, and only speaking in languages she didn’t know. She just liked men. Her coffee, on the other hand, needed to be freshly made with South American beans. None of that instant nonsense. An instant man would be great, though. Imagine that – you put some man granules into a mug, add water, and boom – your evening’s made.

The strong silent dude made little croaky one-off remarks now and then, things like thanks and I’ll try, smiling through cracked lips in a way which would make a block of ice melt. He made a move to get to his feet, and Sabriel – who was normally the opposite of overbearing (she was underbearing) – jumped straight in and wrapped her arm around his back as if to help him up onto his feet. She did help him up onto his feet, but there was an ulterior motive, if you catch my drift. He got up, wobbling like a newborn kitten (or Piper when she hears crows) and Sabriel slid her shoulder against his to steady him, her hand gripping his waist on the opposite side. Slowly, one step two step, they staggered over to the shady trees. Mr Hot Stuff (who do you think you are) collapsed under the leaf roof, his chest heaving. Sabriel hoped he had more stamina when he wasn’t dehydrated and sunburnt.

She stayed standing, smiling down at him while he smiled up at her, charmed by her new nickname. His question shook her out of it, bringing back the instincts of an Alliance agent.

“I don’t know,” she admitted, turning away from him to scan the horizon for clues.

There was nothing obvious. This kind of white sandy paradise could be anywhere in the tropics on Earth – the Bahamas maybe, or the Seychelles – but there was no way of knowing if they were on Earth. She’d been on Shaman five minutes ago. Perhaps this was a part of Shaman she hadn’t explored, or it was Love Island, or some other bizarre fantastical world like the kind writers drop people into when they get drunk or bored. She knew magic worked here, but other than that there were no clues. Apart from her hot friend.

Hot in more ways than one.

Sabriel crouched down next to him, remaining balanced on her feet in a pose it was easy to spring up from.

“My name’s Sabriel. What do they call you, hot stuff?” She reached out to feel his forehead, under the guise of checking his temperature. “Do you know how you got here? Where are you from?”