So much power. So many stars. My mouth tastes like smoke. “Are you holding back at all?” I ask him.
“Not consciously,” Snow says. “Is it too much?”
“No. It’s like you completed the circuit,” I say, gripping his other hand. “I feel kind of drunk, though.”
“Drunk on power?” he asks.
I giggle. “Shit, Snow. Stop talking. This is embarrassing.”
“Do you want me to pull back?”
“No. I want to look at the stars.”
“I’m pulling back,” he says.
And then he does. It feels like the tide going out - if the tide were made of heroin and fire.
I shake my head. I don’t let go of Snow’s hands.

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