Chapter 22 #2
Boone watches it all with a careful eye, cataloging movement and energy even as he tries to be present with me. I know that look now—the one where he’s split in half between duty and desire.
I brush my thumb over his knuckles. “You’re allowed to have fun,” I remind him gently.
“I am having fun,” he says, then pauses. “I’m also… watching.”
“I know.”
The honesty in my voice seems to surprise him. He searches my face, then nods once.
We wander through the enchanted crafts again. Boone stops at a stall run by a pair of horned cryptids arguing cheerfully over the proper way to inscribe a stabilization rune. He weighs in without being asked, and the relief on their faces is immediate.
I watch him work—focused, precise, respected—and feel that familiar swell of pride and affection.
He’s called away briefly after that, intercepted by Bob with a crackle of static and a flurry of gestures. Boone squeezes my hand before leaving.
“Thirty minutes,” he promises. “Stay where it’s busy.”
“I will,” I say. “Go.”
He hesitates, then bends to kiss me—quick, fierce, reassuring. “Mine,” he murmurs, too low for anyone else to hear.
The word sends a thrill through me that has nothing to do with possessiveness and everything to do with choice.
When he disappears into the crowd, the space he leaves behind feels… louder.
I don’t panic. I’m not scared. But I’m suddenly very aware of myself again, of the way the festival presses in from all sides, of the fact that Boone is usually the quiet constant at my back.
I drift toward a quieter ring of stalls, breathing through the sensation. That’s when I run into Cole again.
He’s sitting on a low stone wall, sipping from a mug that smells of roasted herbs and spice, watching a group of bioluminescent dancers spin patterns that leave light trailing in the air. He waves when he spots me.
“Surviving?” he asks.
“Thriving,” I reply, dropping down beside him. “And learning that my vocabulary is wildly insufficient.”
He laughs. “Yeah. I wonder if that will ever go away.”
We talk easily again—about the festival, about how overwhelming it is in a good way, about what it’s like to stand between worlds without quite belonging to either. There’s an unspoken understanding there, a shared relief.
“You seem… grounded,” he says after a moment. “Like you found an anchor.”
I glance toward where Boone disappeared. “I did.”
Cole smiles softly. “That’s good. Hold on to that.”
He stands, stretching. “I should get back. Akai will pretend he’s not worried, but he’ll absolutely be watching the crowd for me.”
“Of course he will,” I say fondly.
Cole hesitates, then adds, “For what it’s worth? You’re doing great.”
The words land deeper than he knows.
After he leaves, I wander again, letting the noise and color wash over me. I pause to watch a storyteller surrounded by children—human and otherwise—spinning a tale about stars that fell in love with mountains. I buy a charm I don’t understand but like anyway.
And then I feel it again.
Attention.
It feel sharper. More deliberate.
Giles appears at my side without warning, pale and angular, eyes glowing faintly in the shade.
“You’re still alive,” he says.
“Last I checked,” I reply, heart thudding despite myself.
“Good,” he grunts. “Boone would be displeased otherwise.”
“He worries,” I say.
“Appropriately,” he says. “You are… interesting.”
I swallow. “That’s… not ominous at all.”
He snorts, a surprisingly human sound. “Everything is ominous if you’re paying attention.” He studies the crowd, then me. “The land is loud today. Be where it’s loudest.”
“With Boone,” I say.
“Yes,” he agrees. “Especially with Boone.”
Before I can ask anything else, he turns and vanishes into the press of bodies, already elsewhere, already done with me.
I stand there for a long moment, then let out a shaky laugh. If I didn’t know any better, I’d swear the Wendigo was keeping tabs on me.
Okay. Sure. I snort.
When Boone finally returns, I spot him before he sees me. He looks tired and focused and unfortunately wound tight again.
I lift a hand and wave. His head snaps up immediately, eyes finding mine with uncanny precision. The relief that crosses his face is so naked it steals my breath.
I don’t wait for him to come to me. I close the distance, slide my arms around him, and press my forehead to his chest. He wraps me up without hesitation, holding me like he’s been bracing for impact.
“Everything okay?” I ask quietly.
He exhales against my hair. “It is now.”
I pull back just enough to look at him. “We need to talk.”
“I know,” he says.
“But not right now,” I add, because despite everything—the undercurrent of unease, the unanswered questions—I’m still very much alive in this moment.
He studies me, then nods. “Not right now.”
We stand together, the festival roaring around us, joy and danger braided so tightly I can’t tell where one ends and the other begins.
I let myself feel both.
By the time the sun begins to tilt toward late afternoon, the festival feels like it’s found its true rhythm. I seriously can’t wait until the Solstice.
The early arrivals have settled. The frantic setup energy has smoothed into quiet anticipation, like a long inhale held just shy of release.
Everywhere I look, there’s movement with purpose—creatures greeting old friends, humans comparing notes, performers tuning instruments that hum back at them in recognition.
Boone keeps me close.
Not in the hovering, cagey way that had grated on me earlier in the week, but with a steadiness that feels intentional rather than reactive. His hand finds mine again as we walk, fingers warm and sure, a quiet anchor I lean into without thinking.
I don’t miss the way his gaze keeps sweeping the crowd.
I also don’t call him on it.
We stop at another food stall, this one run by a pair of cryptids who look like living embers—heat shimmering faintly off their skin, voices crackling with laughter. Boone orders for both of us without asking, and I let him, amused. The food is rich and smoky and leaves my lips tingling pleasantly.
“See?” I say around a bite. “Worth trusting the locals.”
He huffs. “I never doubted the locals. I doubted your enthusiasm.”
“My enthusiasm is a gift,” I inform him solemnly.
He snorts, tension easing another notch.
As evening creeps closer, the performances shift again.
The drum circles grow deeper, slower, rhythms syncing across clearings until it feels like the entire park is pulsing with a single, massive heartbeat.
Lights appear—soft glows, flickers of bioluminescence, runes that illuminate paths without casting harsh shadows.
We pause near a rise overlooking one of the main gathering areas. From here, the scale of it all finally hits me.
This isn’t just a festival. It’s a declaration.
We exist. We endure. We gather.
I feel small in the best possible way.
Boone stands behind me, arms coming around my waist, chin resting briefly at the top of my head. The gesture is casual and affectionate and undeniably possessive. It sends a quiet thrill through me that I don’t bother hiding.
“You’re thinking very loudly,” he murmurs.
I smile. “Am I?”
“Yes,” he says. “But not dangerously.”
I turn in his arms, looking up at him. The lights catch his face, soften the hard lines, and for a moment, he looks… younger—less burdened and more himself.
“I met more people today,” I tell him. “Humans. Cryptids. Giles checked in on me twice.”
His expression tightens. “What did he say?”
“That you’d be displeased if anything happened to me,” I reply lightly. “Which feels accurate.”
He exhales through his nose. “He has a habit of stating the obvious.”
“I like it,” I admit. “He’s grumpy in a familiar way.”
That earns me a reluctant smile.
The sky darkens fully not long after, stars emerging one by one. Somewhere nearby, a group of winged cryptids launch into the air for a rehearsal flight, their silhouettes cutting graceful arcs against the night.
Boone watches them, then looks back at me. “We should stay inside the inner grounds tonight.”
I nod without argument, even though I’ve suggested a couple of times the desire to venture out a little. “Okay.”
There’s a weight behind the suggestion, an unspoken for now, and I accept it. Whatever’s worrying him hasn’t gone away. I can feel it in the way his hand tightens briefly around mine, in the way his shoulders remain just a little too tense.
As we head back toward our assigned shelter, I catch sight of Christopher and Bob in animated discussion, lightning flickering faintly along Bob’s feathers as he gestures. The sight reassures me more than I expect.
Boone notices where I’m looking. “You did well today,” he says quietly.
I glance at him. “Did I pass some kind of test?”
“Several,” he replies. “You didn’t run. You didn’t freeze. You didn’t pretend you weren’t overwhelmed.”
“Those are… oddly specific criteria.”
“They matter,” he says simply.
We reach the edge of the quieter area, where the noise of the festival softens into a distant hum. The air feels calmer here, layered with wards and intention.
I stop walking near a rock, and Boone turns, immediately alert. “What is it?”
I step onto the rock so we’re close enough that our foreheads almost touch. “I know something’s wrong,” I say gently. “I don’t know what it is yet, and I’m okay with that—for now. But I need you to know I’m not fragile. And I’m not going to disappear if you tell me the truth when you’re ready.”
He studies my face for a long moment, searching for something. Whatever he finds there seems to steady him.
“I know,” he says at last. “I just… want to keep you safe long enough to figure out how to explain it without scaring you.”
I smile, soft and sincere. “Good luck with that.”
A quiet laugh escapes him, surprising us both.
He leans down, pressing a kiss to my temple. It’s brief, grounding, and full of promise. “Come on,” he says. “Before Bob drafts us into another committee.”
We walk on together, the festival’s glow behind us, the Solstice drawing closer with every step. Only two more sleeps.
I can hardly wait.