Chapter 23
CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE
BOONE
The Solstice has always been a day I endure.
That sounds ungrateful, and maybe it is, but it’s the truth.
For centuries, the Summer Solstice has been obligation layered over tradition—duty wrapped in celebration.
It matters. It always has. The land remembers it, the creatures respond to it, and the Network depends on it as a reset point, a renewal of old agreements and shared power.
But for me, it’s usually meant vigilance.
Monitoring wards. Watching for friction. Keeping half an eye on Bob while he sets the sky on fire and calls it organization. Making sure nothing ancient wakes up cranky and nothing new decides to test boundaries.
This year is different. Elias is here.
The realization hits me before dawn, when the world is still wrapped in that fragile blue quiet just before light breaks. He sleeps beside me, warm and solid, his breathing slow and even. One arm is slung over my chest like he belongs there—which, somewhere deep and instinctive, I know he does.
Mine, the thought hums again, softer now, settled.
I let myself have the moment. Just one. Then I ease out from under his arm and step outside, the chilly air snapping me fully awake.
Yellowstone holds its breath.
The Awakening Call always comes at dawn. It isn’t just ceremony—it’s a signal, a reminder written into the bones of the land that this place is watched, tended, alive with more than humans will ever know.
Bob does not do subtle.
The sky answers him in thunder.
Stormlight cracks across the basin as he makes his pass, wings slicing through the air, lightning dancing along his feathers in a display that rattles windows and sends ripples through the geysers. The sound rolls outward, vast and commanding, and the land responds.
Howls rise from the tree line. Deep, resonant roars echo from places that don’t appear on any map. Trills and songs weave together, magical pulses shimmering through the air like heat distortion. Even the ground hums beneath my feet, power flowing in response to the call.
Elias steps out beside me, eyes wide, breath catching audibly.
“Oh,” he whispers. “Oh wow.”
I glance at him, taking in the way the dawn light paints his face, the way wonder softens him without diminishing his sharpness. He looks… right. Like he belongs here in a way that still startles me.
“This is the beginning,” I tell him quietly.
He nods, reverent. “I can feel it.”
All day, the park fills.
Old friends arrive, greeting one another with rough laughter and careful distance where old rivalries linger. New alliances spark in quiet conversations. Creatures I haven’t seen in years clap me on the shoulder, tease me about paperwork, ask after the Network.
And Elias—
Elias is a joy.
He talks to everyone. Listens to everyone.
Asks questions that make elders pause, consider, and then answer more honestly than they intended.
He charms without trying, his curiosity genuine, his respect obvious.
I catch cryptids watching him with open approval, with that subtle assessment reserved for mates and trusted humans alike.
“How could they not like him?” Bob mutters at one point, shaking his head. “It’s obnoxious.”
I don’t disagree.
We spend the day moving from group to group, sharing meals, catching up.
Elias absorbs everything like he was built for this—myth and magic and community all feeding that restless, brilliant mind of his.
I find myself smiling more than I ever have at a Solstice, tension easing in ways I hadn’t known were possible.
For a few hours, the wrongness that’s been a constant in the back of my mind fades.
Then the sun begins to sink. Dusk brings the Convergence.
This is the heart of it—the single most important moment of the Solstice. As the light thins, everyone gathers, drawn inward toward the basin like iron filings to a lodestone. The crowd quiets, anticipation settling thick and electric in the air.
Bob rises again, stormlight crackling as he calls power down from the sky. Old Faithful responds, glowing from within, runes etched into the stone flaring in unison. The sound is immense and layered—thunder, steam, magic humming at a pitch that makes my teeth buzz.
The surge hits like a wave.
Shared magic flows through the gathered crowd—blessing, bonding, empowerment, renewal. I feel it roll through me, familiar and grounding, reinforcing old ties, strengthening wards, smoothing frayed edges in the Network’s vast web.
Some creatures shift more easily afterward, forms slipping like well-worn coats. Others go still, eyes distant as visions brush their minds. Some—most—simply breathe easier, whole in a way that’s hard to articulate.
Elias grips my hand, knuckles white, eyes bright with awe.
“I can feel it,” he says, voice shaking. “It’s like—like everything just clicked.”
I squeeze his fingers. “That’s the point.”
When the Convergence fades, the Afterward begins.
It’s the wildest party of the year, and I usually approach it with a mix of dread and obligation. Too many moving parts. Too much joy. Too many opportunities for something to go wrong.
But with Elias here, everything feels different.
We dance—actually dance. He pulls me into it, laughing when I grumble, spinning me with a confidence that has no right to exist between a human and a sasquatch. We eat until we’re full and then some. We talk, trade stories, and lose track of time.
I let myself enjoy it.
Then the air changes.
It’s subtle, a discordant note under the music, a tightening in the air that sets my instincts flaring. I catch the eyes of a few others across the crowd—those with mates, those who know this feeling. Concern flashes between us, unspoken and immediate.
The wards are still set. I can feel them.
But they’ve been touched.
Bob finds me a moment later, lightning dimmed, expression grave. Christopher is with him, jaw tight.
“Someone tampered with the wards,” Bob says quietly.
I nod. “I know.”
The disturbance fades as quickly as it appeared. Laughter swells again, the party surging back to life. No panic. No visible threat.
But the damage—whatever it was—has already been done.
And I know, with a certainty that makes my chest ache, that I can’t keep this from Elias anymore.
Not now.
Not when everything I love is standing right in the middle of it.
Bob leads us away from the heart of the festival with a practiced ease that doesn’t draw attention.
Christopher flanks us, silent and alert, his presence a steady counterweight to the chaos still roaring behind us.
Laughter and music trail after us like ghosts, but the deeper we go into the quieter edges of the grounds, the more that sound dulls, replaced by the low hum of wards and the restless whisper of the land.
Elias notices immediately. “What’s wrong?” he asks, gaze flicking between our faces. “You all look like you’re about to confiscate the punch bowl.”
Bob grimaces. “That bad, huh?”
I stop walking.
Elias stops with me, concern sharpening his expression. The lantern light catches the edges of his face, turning the gold in his eyes almost molten. I take a breath that feels like it scrapes my lungs on the way in.
“I should have told you sooner,” I say.
His brow furrows. “Told me what?”
Christopher shifts, giving us space without leaving earshot. Bob folds his wings in tight, stormlight dimmed to a faint crackle under his feathers.
“There’s something out there,” I continue, choosing my words carefully even now. “It followed us here.”
Elias’s shoulders tense. “Followed us?”
“Yes.”
The word lands between us, heavy and unavoidable.
“I felt it days ago,” I admit. “On the road. It wasn’t tracking me. It was tracking you.”
His eyes flash—anger first, sharp and immediate. “And you didn’t think that was information I should know?”
“I thought—” I stop, jaw tightening. “I thought keeping you unaware would keep you safe.”
“That’s not your call,” he says slowly, carefully.
He’s right. Prickly thorns, he’s right, and the knowledge burns.
Bob clears his throat softly. “We believe the wards were tested tonight. Not breached fully, but… compromised.”
Elias looks at him, then back at me. “Tested how?”
“Like someone pressing on a locked door to see where it gives,” I say. “They didn’t come through. But they learned something.”
“And you’re telling me now,” he says, voice tight, “because?”
“Because I can’t protect you from something you don’t understand,” I answer quietly. “And because if it moves again, I need you to listen to me without question.”
Silence stretches.
Then Elias exhales, long and controlled, hands clenching at his sides. “I’m frustrated,” he says flatly. “A little pissed, actually. But I trust you.”
The words hit harder than his anger would have.
“I shouldn’t,” he continues, eyes locked on mine. “You took away my agency. But I know you didn’t do it to control me. You did it because you were scared.”
“Yes,” I admit. “I was.”
Bob steps in gently. “Boone and I are going to investigate the weak point. Quietly. We don’t want to cause panic. There won’t be any announcements.”
Christopher nods, offering a steady smile. “I’ll stay here.”
“With Elias,” Bob adds, looking at him directly. “Inside the inner ward line. Not the perimeter. Somewhere safe.”
Elias looks between us, clearly hating the plan, and then sighs. “Fine. But I’m not hiding. I’m staying visible.”
“That’s acceptable,” Bob agrees.
I turn to Elias, taking his hands in mine, grounding myself in the reality of him. “Please,” I say, low and earnest. “Stay. Just until I get back.”
He searches my face, then nods. “I will. I promise.”
I kiss him then. It’s brief but fierce, a press of everything I’m feeling. When I pull back, his eyes are bright but steady.
“Go,” he tells me. “Find your ghost.”
I leave before I can second-guess myself. Bob follows but then splits off and heads in the opposite direction.