Chapter 15 #2
I want to snap at him, but he’s not wrong. I’ve never been anti-human—not exactly—but cautious. Critical. Generally uninterested in socializing with beings who build parking lots in migration corridors and set campfires under drought warnings.
The problem is, the Network knows me. They know my tolerance for humans exists at a distance of one mile and decreases exponentially with nearness.
Or did.
I take a steadying breath and type:
BigFootBoone [admin]: He is an exception.
The reactions are immediate.
Dan: He sounds great. I really wish I could attend this year. I’m sorry I’m going to miss meeting him. Next year, though.
MothAkai: EXCEPTION = CRUSH
MothAkai: CONFIRMED
MothAkai: I’m putting this in the gossip channel. No one can stop me.
MothAkai removed by admin.
MothAkai rejoined.
BigFootBoone [admin]: AKAI, IF YOU MOVE THIS CONVERSATION, I SWEAR THERE WILL BE ANOTHER DONATION OF COPPER WIRE!
Thunderbird Bob: Enough. If Boone says the human is safe, he is safe. My mate is human. Many of our closest allies are. We’ll adapt. Boone, bring him.
I inhale sharply. Every emotion I’ve been wrestling crashes into me at once.
I didn’t think Bob would intervene. I didn’t think he’d take my side, not without grilling me first. But then again, Bob knows what it means to find someone unexpected.
And to choose them.
His calm message shuts up the entire server for a full three seconds, which, in Network time, is an eternity.
Howl4U [admin]: Understood. We will adjust protocols.
Howl4U [admin]: Provide the human’s name for registry.
I inhale deeply. Typing it feels too intimate, but there’s no point hiding it.
BigFootBoone [admin]: Elias.
Silence again before another ping.
MothAkai: ELIAS! Oh, that’s a cute name.
MothAkai: Welcome to the network, little human. I didn’t realize it was that easy to add a human.
Howl4U [admin]: He’s lucky Bob vouched.
Howl4U [admin]: Do we need extra medical on standby for this human?? Is he fragile? Humans are always fragile.
I grit my teeth. There are several humans who’ve attended the event over the years. You’d think Rex had never met one before.
BigFootBoone [admin]: He is perfectly capable. Stop panicking or I will revoke admin privileges.
MothAkai: You love threatening us, you big soft sassy sasquatch.
At that exact moment, Elias returns to the cave mouth. His footsteps slow when he sees me still hunched over the console. “Sorry,” he says, a little breathless. “Didn’t mean to interrupt grave admin business. You need me to leave again?”
He’s smiling, but when he tilts his head to read my expression, the smile softens.
“Everything okay?”
No. Not remotely.
But also… yes. Because he’s here. Because he wants to be.
“As okay as possible,” I manage, signing out without saying goodbye. Honestly, they deserve it with how they’ve been carrying on. “Just… informing the others about our trip.”
His face brightens and he steps closer when I make no sign asking him to give me some more time. “How’d they take it?”
I decide not to mention the shrieking, the GIFs, Akai’s ridiculous name for me, and someone’s demand for a full human medical dossier.
“They… have opinions,” I say.
He snorts. “Shocking.”
He steps deeper into the cave, and the faint smell of warm cedar, river minerals, and whatever uniquely-Elias scent he carries winds its way straight into my chest. It’s unfair how easily he affects me. A single look, a single breath, and suddenly I’m thinking thoughts I have no business thinking.
“Ready to plan?” he asks.
Not remotely. But I nod anyway. “Yes,” I say. “First, we need to discuss the distance. The actual distance.”
“Oh.” He perks up, pulling his notebook from his pack. “Right. I’ve been thinking about that. I figure we start early, take steady pacing—thirty miles max per day—and make up time by—”
“Elias.” I hold up a hand. “A human can’t walk thirty miles a day for that long.”
He squints at me. “I could.”
“You could once,” I say gently. “Then your legs would dissolve.”
“No, they—” he begins.
I level him with a look.
He deflates. “Okay, maybe.”
He flips another page. “So what’s your suggestion? Besides super-speed forest traversal, which I absolutely cannot do.”
“We drive,” I say.
His eyes widen. “Drive? Like… in my truck? Together?”
I grimace. “Yes.”
“And you’d—” He gestures vaguely at my body. “—be in human form?”
“Unfortunately.”
His grin nearly splits his face. “Boone, that’s amazing, but are you sure you’ll be okay with that?”
It is not amazing. It’s horrifying. It involves pants.
But the way he lights up, the way joy bursts off him like sparks, I can’t bring myself to complain.
“We drive,” he repeats, bouncing slightly when I nod. “Then stop for node checks, meet your friends, camp some nights, and get to Yellowstone with time to spare. Boone, this is perfect.”
I feel myself warming in places I pretend don’t exist.
He thinks doing all this with me is perfect.
I turn away before he can read my face too clearly. “It’s a workable plan,” I say stiffly. “But we must consider the cryptids we’ll encounter. The Wenatchee Giants. The Shunka Pack. They’re not used to humans.”
“But they know you,” Elias says. “And if you say I’m okay, they’ll trust you.”
“Trust me enough not to eat you,” I say dryly.
He pats my arm. “I’ll take it.”
The audacity of this man. And the fondness he stirs in me.
He kneels beside the map, eyes scanning the penciled territory markers I made earlier.
“This is incredible,” he murmurs. “Do you know how wild this is? How lucky I am to see this? Boone, this is your world. And you’re letting me in.”
My throat tightens. “I am… trying,” I say softly.
He looks up, and for a moment, there’s no fear, no hesitation—just quiet certainty. “I’m glad you are.”
I swallow hard.
This is dangerous.
This is reckless.
This is everything I swore I’d never let happen.
And yet… I want more.
Before I can spiral, he shifts on his knees, leaning closer.
“So,” he says, bright and earnest, “what’s next?”
I meet his eyes. And for once, the answer is simple. “We plan together.”
Elias adjusts his position on the cave floor, scooting closer to the map with the eager focus of a man who once spent twenty-four hours cataloging fungal growth patterns for fun.
He taps the page. “So, if we drive the major stretch—Washington to Idaho border—that gives us time to stop here—” He circles the Blue Mountains. “—and maybe here.” Another circle around Yakima Gorge. “And then depending on timing—”
“No,” I interrupt, because what he just circled would get us eaten. “That second spot is a Shunka Warak’in migration trail.”
His pencil freezes midair. “Ah. So, not friendly?”
“Not unfriendly,” I say. “Just territorial. And sensitive. And prone to interpreting curiosity as a request for combat.”
Elias clears his throat delicately. “Noted.”
He sits back on his heels, studying the wide sweep of terrain between Olympic and Yellowstone like he’s mentally rehearsing it step by step. Then, slowly, his gaze drifts toward me.
“So you do this every year,” he says quietly. “Alone.”
I bristle, suddenly aware of the way his voice changes when he says the word alone. Like he feels it. Like he recognizes what that kind of solitude does to someone.
“I’ve done it a long time,” I say. “Since before the Network was more than a handful of runes and a lightning storm that didn’t kill the Yeti by sheer miracle.”
He smiles, but it’s soft. Sad, even.
“That’s a long time without company.”
I look away. I don’t want to talk about this, especially not with him.
“There are others I see along the way,” I say. “Contacts. Colleagues.”
“That’s not the same and you know it.”
My jaw tightens. “I manage.”
“I didn’t say you didn’t,” he says gently.
Silence hangs between us, thick and vulnerable. It would be easy to change the subject. I should. Instead, the walls I’ve spent centuries building begin to crack.
“Solitude is safer,” I say slowly. “For us. For humans. For everyone.”
Elias’s eyes warm. “But maybe not for you.”
No one has ever said something like that to me—out loud, and without judgment.
I clear my throat roughly. “We are not discussing this.”
He smiles because he knows I’m deflecting. Then he leans forward slightly and says, “Boone. I want to do this with you. The journey. The stops. The Solstice. All of it.”
His words strike like a thunderstone. Not loud, not violent. Just deep.
“You really want to meet them?” I ask. “The others? The giants? The pack? Even the Bray Road Beast?”
His eyebrows lift. “Is that the one who hates technology?”
“Yes.”
“Then yes,” he says, smiling. “Absolutely yes.”
He’s either brave or stupid or both. I still haven’t decided which.
I let out a slow breath. “Then we need rules.”
“Rules?” he repeats, amused.
“Yes,” I say, counting them off on my fingers. “One: Stay beside me at all times. No wandering. No chasing plants. No approaching anyone unless I say it’s safe.”
His smile widens. “Okay.”
“Two: You must follow my lead when speaking. If I tell you to be quiet, be quiet. If I tell you to run—”
“Is running common?” he asks.
“Not usually,” I admit. “But some creatures… react poorly to surprises.”
“I can be non-surprising,” he says solemnly.
“No,” I correct. “You can try.”
His laughter echoes beautifully off the cave walls.
I look away, because if I watch him too long, I’ll do something irrational—like lean in, or touch his face, or kiss him until we forget all about maps and Solstice deadlines.
“Three,” I continue. “You do not share anything you learn with humans outside the Network. Ever. Not with your colleagues. Not in your reports. Not with your brother.”
He sobers. “I know,” he says. “I told you—I would never put you at risk like that.”
There’s no hesitation. No doubt. Just certainty.
And that… that terrifies me more than any Shunka Pack.
Because what if he means it? What if he really is choosing this—choosing me—without realizing the weight of the decision?
I open my mouth to warn him again, but he beats me to it.
“Boone,” he says quietly, “I know what I’m doing.”
“No,” I say before I can stop myself. “You don’t.”