I search for the right words. “Wrong. Displaced. Like it was wearing this land instead of being part of it.” I shake my head. “It wasn’t rooted. No history in the soil. No echo.”
His eyes widen slightly. “So… not native.”
“No.” My jaw tightens. “There are cryptids—species—that exist elsewhere. Asia. Eastern Europe. Parts of Africa. Some of them are aggressive. Some of them are old enough that the legends about them aren’t warnings so much as survival records.”
That gets his full attention.
“And you think?—”
“I don’t know,” I cut in, honest. “But I’m concerned. Enough that I’ll need to reach out to my contacts.” I grimace faintly. “I don’t talk to the international Network as often as I should. Time zones. Politics. Personal preference.”
He huffs softly. “Of course there’s cryptid politics.”
“There’salwayspolitics,” I mutter. Then, more seriously, I say, “If something crossed over, or was driven here, or slipped through a boundary that shouldn’t be thinning yet… that’s not small.”
He nods slowly, absorbing it all. “So tonight wasn’t just bad luck?”
“No,” I say. “It wasn’t.”
Silence settles again, but this time it’s thoughtful rather than raw.
After a moment, Elias exhales and rolls his shoulders, like he’s shedding the last of the adrenaline. “Okay,” he says. “That’s… tomorrow’s problem.”
I pause. “It is?”
“Absolutely.” He steps closer, close enough that I can feel his warmth again. “Tonight’s problem is that I smell like fear and road dust, and I would really like to shower.”
My mouth quirks despite myself. “Alone?”
He tilts his head, eyes bright now—mischief creeping back in around the edges. “I was hoping you’d want to save water.”
I study him for a beat, then sigh. “That bathroom is going to be… inadequate.”
“Tiny,” Elias agrees cheerfully. “Criminally so.”
“And yet,” I say, already knowing how this ends.
“And yet,” he echoes.
He reaches for the hem of his shirt, tugging it up and over his head with easy confidence, then turns and hooks a finger in the elastic of my gray sweatpants, giving it a gentle, insistent pull toward the bathroom.
CHAPTER TWENTY
ELIAS
The showerbarely qualifies as functional for two people.
Steam curls upward almost immediately, fogging the mirror, softening the edges of the room until the world beyond the tiles feels very far away. The water drums against the walls, a steady, intimate sound that fills every quiet space. It’s warm—almost too warm—but neither of us moves to adjust it.
Boone closes the door behind us, the latch clicking into place with a finality that makes my breath hitch.
For a moment, we just stand here.
He’s human now, and my brain keeps stumbling over the familiarity of him like this. The breadth of his shoulders, the way his body still holds power even without fur or towering height. There’s a watchful restraint in him, like he’s bracing himself against his own wants.
It makes my chest ache.
I step closer first, the tile cool beneath my bare feet, my skin already prickling from the temperature. When I reach for him, he stills. He doesn’t pull away, doesn’t lean in. He just waits.
