“I will,” I say. “Go.”
He hesitates, then bends to kiss me—quick, fierce, reassuring. “Mine,” he murmurs, too low for anyone else to hear.
The word sends a thrill through me that has nothing to do with possessiveness and everything to do with choice.
When he disappears into the crowd, the space he leaves behind feels… louder.
I don’t panic. I’m not scared. But I’m suddenly very aware of myself again, of the way the festival presses in from all sides, of the fact that Boone is usually the quiet constant at my back.
I drift toward a quieter ring of stalls, breathing through the sensation. That’s when I run into Cole again.
He’s sitting on a low stone wall, sipping from a mug that smells of roasted herbs and spice, watching a group of bioluminescent dancers spin patterns that leave light trailing in the air. He waves when he spots me.
“Surviving?” he asks.
“Thriving,” I reply, dropping down beside him. “And learning that my vocabulary is wildly insufficient.”
He laughs. “Yeah. I wonder if that will ever go away.”
We talk easily again—about the festival, about how overwhelming it is in a good way, about what it’s like to stand between worlds without quite belonging to either. There’s an unspoken understanding there, a shared relief.
“You seem… grounded,” he says after a moment. “Like you found an anchor.”
I glance toward where Boone disappeared. “I did.”
Cole smiles softly. “That’s good. Hold on to that.”
He stands, stretching. “I should get back. Akai will pretend he’s not worried, but he’ll absolutely be watching the crowd for me.”
“Of course he will,” I say fondly.
Cole hesitates, then adds, “For what it’s worth? You’re doing great.”
The words land deeper than he knows.
After he leaves, I wander again, letting the noise and color wash over me. I pause to watch a storyteller surrounded by children—human and otherwise—spinning a tale about stars that fell in love with mountains. I buy a charm I don’t understand but like anyway.
And then I feel it again.
Attention.
It feel sharper. More deliberate.
Giles appears at my side without warning, pale and angular, eyes glowing faintly in the shade.
“You’re still alive,” he says.
“Last I checked,” I reply, heart thudding despite myself.
“Good,” he grunts. “Boone would be displeased otherwise.”
“He worries,” I say.
“Appropriately,” he says. “You are… interesting.”
I swallow. “That’s… not ominous at all.”
He snorts, a surprisingly human sound. “Everything is ominous if you’re paying attention.” He studies the crowd, then me. “The land is loud today. Be where it’s loudest.”
