“Yes.”
“And he has not aged normally.”
“No.”
“And this is”—I gesture helplessly—“not a unique situation.”
Boone pauses in the act of setting down his pack. He looks at me for a long moment, then says carefully, “It’s not common. But it isn’t unheard of.”
My stomach drops in a strange, fluttering way that has nothing to do with fear.
“How,” I ask, and my voice is quieter now, more focused, “does that happen?”
Boone tilts his head slightly, considering how to answer. “There are different paths. Different species. Different agreements.”
“Agreements,” I echo faintly.
“Yes.”
We sit. Boone lowers himself onto a fallen log, the wood creaking under his weight. I perch beside him, close enough that our knees brush. He doesn’t move away.
“Sometimes,” he continues, “it’s magic woven slowly, over time. Sometimes it’s ritual. Sometimes it’s simply… proximity and choice.”
My mind races.
Magic woven slowly over time could be epigenetic adaptation. Ritual could be controlled exposure to some form of energy transfer. Proximity and choice—well. I don’t even know where to begin with that one.
“And the rune?” I ask, lifting it slightly.
Boone’s gaze drops to it, pride and caution warring in his expression. “That is access. Protection. Recognition. It tells the land—and those bound to it—that you’re under my care.”
My breath stutters. “Under your… care.”
“Yes.”
There it is again. That word. That sense of something being named without ceremony.
“And the lifespan thing?” I ask, because the information is hovering at the edges of my thoughts since Christopher smiled atme like a man who’s seen decades come and go and decided to stay anyway.
Boone’s shoulders tense. Not much. Just enough that I notice.
“It is not something discussed lightly,” he says.
“Okay,” I reply immediately. “Then we don’t have to discuss it.”
He studies my face, searching for something. “You’re curious.”
I huff a small laugh. “I’m a scientist. Curiosity is my default state.”
“That’s not what I meant.”
I open my mouth, then close it again. He’s right. This isn’t just academic curiosity. This is… personal. Uncomfortably so.
Boone looks away first. “Gaining—for thunderbirds—is… an alignment. A deep one. It changes how time treats a human body.”
My pulse picks up. “Changes how?”
“It slows. It adapts. It becomes more… resilient.”
