Tiffany gripped the man's arm; it was cold and lifeless, hard as a statue. Shocked, she released him, scrambled up the rocky shore, and clung to the rocks. The black cat on his shoulder arched its back, poised to strike. Ignoring it, Tiffany focused on the man's face. Her earlier panic had led her to grasp him as a lifeline, leaving red marks on his arm. "Sorry," she mumbled.

He stared intently, his gaze a mixture of curiosity and scrutiny—like he'd just spotted prey. The unsettling intensity made her uncomfortable. She wanted to leave, but the only escape was a sheer, smooth cliff face, impossible to climb without tools. Even with her skills, it was extremely dangerous. She had no idea what awaited her above; the thick fog was disorienting. She wondered if Richard and Jeremy had noticed her absence.

Taking a deep breath, she unsheathed her switchblade, drove it into the cliff face for leverage, and began her ascent. The man in the water continued to stare at her unsettlingly. He's staying in that icy water for a reason—either a specific purpose or a unique physical condition. No one else could withstand this temperature. And the woman who pushed me Who else is on Misty Ridge? I need to be careful, she thought.

Climbing cautiously, she vaguely heard someone calling her name from above. The wind distorted the sound, but she knew they weren't far. Overjoyed, she shouted, "I'm here! Under the sheer rock!" Her voice echoed twice downwind. Did they hear me? she wondered.

Anxious, she climbed further. Suddenly, the stone beneath her foot gave way, and she fell. Oh no! she thought, closing her eyes, bracing for impact. Instead, she felt a gust of wind, then landed in a warm, familiar embrace. It was Richard.

His cold eyes, filled with anxiety, projected a fierce, chilling aura. Slightly surprised, she said, "Richard, you got here so fast."

He said nothing, landing steadily with her in his arms. The wind seemed to lessen. He set her down, removed his jacket, and asked gravely, "Who did this?"

Her sudden disappearance hadn't been accidental. Someone had intended to harm her, following and attacking at the opportune moment. "I don't know," she said, shaking her head, "but it seemed to be a woman." She escaped so quickly; she clearly knows Misty Ridge. This is my first time here. Who would be waiting to harm me?

"Oh, right, there's one more" she began, turning to the now empty, still pool. The man she'd mistaken for a lifeline was gone.

Richard followed her gaze. "Someone was here," he stated definitively. Two trails of water marked the pool's edge—one hers, the other indicating someone's departure.

"Yeah," Tiffany replied, shivering in her wet clothes as the wind picked up. They couldn't stay. Richard wrapped an arm around her waist. "Let's go."

A feeling of lightness washed over her. Before she knew it, he'd leaped onto the sheer rock, holding her securely, much like he'd once helped her onto a tree. It was both unbelievable and exhilarating. They landed safely.

John and his men arrived, too late to witness the scene. "Mr. Hampton, Miss Kelley, are you both alright?" John asked.

"We're fine," they replied.

Tiffany noticed Jeremy's absence. "Where's Jeremy?" she asked. He wouldn't leave me.

"He spotted signs of someone leaving and went after them," John explained. Jeremy's skilled and familiar with Misty Ridge; he'll be fine, she thought.

Meanwhile, Sandra, devastated, had seized an opportunity during a break in the mist to push Tiffany from the cliff. Even a minor injury would suffice. She fled immediately, the mist obscuring her escape. Her recent experiences had made her more resourceful. I didn't expect it to be so easy. Tiffany isn't as strong as I thought, she mused, feeling smug—until Jeremy spotted her.

He pursued her relentlessly, driving her to exhaustion. This guy's like glue! she thought. She stumbled, then was pulled into a hole by unseen hands, just as Jeremy closed in. He found only bent grass. I lost her? he wondered, the wind falling silent, the mist thickening. Reluctantly, he returned empty-handed.

In the hole, Sandra trembled. Her rescuer was her master, his black tabby in his arms. His expression was terrifying—cruel, ruthless, like he was looking at a corpse—yet a disturbing smile played on his lips.

"A pity you failed," her master said, shaking his head. His hand, gentle on the cat, could snap her neck in an instant.

Tears streaming down her face, Sandra pleaded, "I could have done it! It's that bitch's fault! I couldn't resist Mr. Quaid, please, another chance! I swear I won't do it again!"

There won't be another time, her master thought. That was his rule. All this pleading is meaningless.

Despair consumed Sandra as she fell to the ground. Then, she heard him ask, with interest, "You know those people, huh? Do you know that young lady?"

The final sentence is grammatically incomplete, suggesting the passage might be a fragment from a larger work.