Comforting.
Too easy.
My thoughts, traitorous things, keep wandering back togaining. To time bending around a human body. To the way Christopher had looked at me—not warning, not coaxing, just… understanding.
If Boone and I stayed together—really together—could that be a path?
And do I want it?
The question scares me enough that I shove it firmly back into the dark corner of my mind where all the otherfuturequestions are currently sulking.
Not tonight. Tonight, I want this.
I snuggle closer, fitting myself against Boone’s chest, listening to the deep, steady rhythm of his breathing. The rune presses warm against my sternum, a quiet reminder that I am—somehow—marked. Known.
Boone’s chin dips, resting lightly against the top of my head.
“You’re safe,” he murmurs, like it’s a fact of the universe rather than a reassurance.
I smile, eyes drifting closed. “I know.”
And that’s the thing that finally gets me. I don’tthinkI’m safe. I know it.
Wrapped in ancient strength, under a sky that feels suddenly bigger and kinder than it ever has before, I let myself rest.
Questions can wait.
The future can wait.
For now, I have Boone’s warmth, the steady hum of the rune, and the quiet certainty that whatever this is—it matters.
That’s what sticks with me as Boone’s steady breathing lulls me into sleep.
CHAPTER NINETEEN
BOONE
I don’t rememberthe last time I felt like this.
That’s the truth of it. Nothappyin the abstract sense—content, or satisfied, or relieved—but this specific warmth that sits behind my ribs and refuses to be dislodged. A happiness that isn’t loud or fleeting. It doesn’t spike and crash. Itpersists.
It hums.
It is Elias.
The last few days have unfolded with an ease that feels almost suspicious. We walk and talk, sometimes for hours, sometimes in companionable silence. He asks questions while I work—about the nodes, the runes, the way the land feels to me rather than how it looks. He listens when I answer—really listens, like every word matters. When he gets excited, he gestures with his hands, animated and bright, and I pretend not to watch the way his face lights up because if I look too long, I forget what I’m doing.
We hold hands without thinking about it. It just… happens. Fingers finding fingers, palms warm and familiar. Sometimes I catch myself adjusting my pace so he doesn’t have to hurry. Sometimes he does the same for me and speeds up, even though I never ask.
At night, the quiet is anything but.
The nights are hot and heavy and full of desire and want, of mouths and hands and the low, unguarded sounds Elias makes when he forgets himself. I have never wanted another being the way I want him. I have never been wanted like this either—openly, enthusiastically, without fear.
Every moment feels like a gift I’m afraid to name too loudly.
And yet.
Since we met Bob and Christopher, something has shifted.
