Chapter 25
CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE
BOONE
The meeting with Bob and the Shade lasts longer than I expect.
Not because of conflict—there is none—but because sorrow takes time to navigate when it’s never been named properly before.
The Shade doesn’t resist the terms. That, more than anything, unsettles me.
It listens as Bob lays out the boundaries clearly: The wards are not to be tested again, not directly or indirectly; no contact with Elias without consent; no proximity to Solstice gatherings without invitation.
In return, the Network will not hunt it, will not treat it as an intruder by default, and—after the festivities—will help it find neutral ground where it can exist without fracturing the land or drawing unnecessary attention.
A place between places.
The Shade doesn’t thank us. It doesn’t apologize. It simply inclines its head once, gaze distant and tired, and says, “I will wait.”
Bob watches it go with a frown. “It’s not lying.”
“No,” I agree. “It’s just… empty.”
“Empty things can still be dangerous,” Bob replies. “But loneliness makes fools of us all.”
I leave him drafting reports and warnings for the wider Network, my thoughts already pulling me back toward Elias.
Toward the quiet certainty of his presence.
Toward the ache that has settled in my chest since last night—not fear this time, but want.
Want for time. For shared mornings. For the impossible simplicity of choosing each other without consequence.
As I make my way through the thinning festival grounds, another thought gnaws at me.
Milo.
If Elias truly saw his brother here—inside the wards—that means something fundamental has already shifted. Humans do not stumble into this place by accident. They don’t cross thresholds like this unless they’re invited, protected, or already known.
Hope sparks sharp and sudden in my chest.
If Milo is here, if he knows—then Elias would not be alone in understanding this world. Would not be by himself balancing wonder with fear, loyalty with loss. And if the rumors I picked up this morning are even half true, if Milo’s path has crossed with Calder’s is anything more than passing—
I stop myself.
Speculation helps no one. Not yet.
I find Elias back at our accommodation, sunlight slanting in through the trees, his bag open on the bed as he sorts through gear with methodical focus. The sight hits me harder than expected.
He looks like he’s almost ready.
“Hey,” I say softly.
He turns immediately, relief flashing across his face before he schools it into a smile. “Hey. You’re back.”
I cross the space between us in three strides and kiss him slowly, grounding us, trying to reassure us both. He melts into it easily, hands curling into my arm fur.
“You okay?” he asks when we part.
“Yes,” I say, and mean it. “When we’re out of here, I’ll tell you everything.”
His eyes search mine. “You promise?”
“I promise,” I say firmly. “I made a mistake not telling you sooner. I won’t make it again.”
He exhales, some of the tension finally leaving him. He nods, then glances back at his bag. “We’re heading east today, right?”
“Yes,” I reply. “I’ve got a few more checks I want to make along the way.”
I don’t say I want to keep you moving. I don’t say I want distance between you and anything that might reach for you again. Elias would hear it anyway.
I usually linger here longer—Yellowstone is a hub, a place that’s often considered neutral territory. After this, when summer begins to wane, I head southeast, toward the Great Smoky Mountains. I have another home there, another cave carved into stone and patience.
But right now, the idea of staying still feels wrong.
Before we leave, we say our goodbyes.
Bob claps me on the shoulder, lightning subdued but eyes sharp. “You did well.”
“So did you,” I reply.
Christopher hugs Elias tightly, murmuring something that makes him laugh and blink back emotion all at once.
Then we’re walking.
The wards hum as we approach, a familiar resonance that eases as we pass through—me without resistance, Elias with the gentle warmth of his rune answering in kind. The world beyond feels quieter somehow, less concentrated.
Elias doesn’t speak for a while.
I let the silence stretch, knowing better than to fill it prematurely. We walk through dappled sunlight and shadow, the path uneven and alive with roots and stones and the quiet conversations of the forest.
Then Elias trips.
It’s not dramatic—just a misjudged step and a root that rises faster than expected—but he goes down on his ass with an undignified oof.
I’m there instantly, hauling him up with a huff of laughter he pretends not to hear.
“One of these days,” he mutters, brushing dirt from his pants, “I’ll learn how to dodge roots.”
I grin. “You do fine.”
“In a hundred years,” he adds lightly, “maybe I’ll have it mastered.”
The words hit me like a thunderclap. I scoop him up without thinking, arms wrapping around him, lifting him clean off the ground. He yelps in surprise, then laughs breathlessly as I kiss him—hard, joyful, unrestrained.
When I pull back, he’s flushed and wide-eyed, still in my arms.
“That’s not a hundred percent yes, but—” he starts.
I cut him off gently, pressing my forehead to his. “That you’re even considering it is enough for now.”
And it is.
Contentment eases into my bones without fear snapping at its heels. Whatever comes next—whatever choices Elias makes—I will walk beside him as long as he lets me.
And for now? That is everything.
We walk for a while after that, the forest easing around us like it’s decided we belong here, at least for the moment.
Elias settles back into an easy rhythm, his earlier quiet giving way to quiet contemplation instead of heaviness.
I can feel him thinking, turning things over in that endlessly curious mind of his, and for once, I don’t interrupt.
It’s only when the terrain smooths and the path widens that he finally speaks.
“So… my brother,” he says, carefully casual.
I stop walking to give him my full attention.
He sighs, scrubbing a hand through his hair. “I couldn’t find him. We got separated after… everything, and then my phone completely lost signal. I searched for ages, but…” He shakes his head. “I’m sure I saw him. It had to be him. Once we’re somewhere with reception, I’ll try calling again.”
I nod, though my thoughts have already wandered elsewhere.
There’d been rumors at the Solstice.
Nothing concrete. Just whispers that the Beast of Bray Road had arrived with a human.
They hadn’t stayed long—long enough to set the gossip running before disappearing again.
I vaguely remember hearing a name. Milo, perhaps.
Or Micah. Something close enough that the coincidence now prickles uncomfortably beneath my fur.
Calder has always preferred letting speculation die of old age rather than correcting it. Trying to confirm anything with him is another matter entirely. The Beast of Bray Road has developed an almost legendary talent for ignoring Network messages, emails, and anything else requiring a reply.
Still... once I have the chance, I’ll reach out.
If the rumors were true, and Elias’s brother really was the human who’d walked beside Calder into Yellowstone...
Well.
That would be one astonishing coincidence.
We start walking again, the path bending eastward, sunlight filtering through the canopy in soft, broken beams. Elias trips once more—less dramatically this time—and grumbles under his breath.
I chuckle. “Careful.”
“I am being careful,” he protests. “The ground is just… aggressively uneven.”
“Welcome to my world,” I say dryly.
He laughs, the sound bright and unguarded, and a quiet peace settles over me. This—this—is what I want. The journey. The missteps. The shared humor. The quiet understanding that we’re moving forward together, even if we don’t yet know where we’ll end up.
We crest a small rise, the forest opening ahead of us, the path stretching onward like an invitation rather than a threat.
East, then south. More checks. More stops. More conversations and choices and moments that will shape whatever comes next.
For now, I am content.
For now, I have Elias’s hand in mine, hope stirring cautiously in my chest, and the certainty that whatever waits ahead, I won’t face it alone.
And that feels like enough.