We exist. We endure. We gather.
I feel small in the best possible way.
Boone stands behind me, arms coming around my waist, chin resting briefly at the top of my head. The gesture is casual and affectionate and undeniably possessive. It sends a quiet thrill through me that I don’t bother hiding.
“You’re thinking very loudly,” he murmurs.
I smile. “Am I?”
“Yes,” he says. “But not dangerously.”
I turn in his arms, looking up at him. The lights catch his face, soften the hard lines, and for a moment, he looks… younger—less burdened and more himself.
“I met more people today,” I tell him. “Humans. Cryptids. Giles checked in on me twice.”
His expression tightens. “What did he say?”
“That you’d be displeased if anything happened to me,” I reply lightly. “Which feels accurate.”
He exhales through his nose. “He has a habit of stating the obvious.”
“I like it,” I admit. “He’s grumpy in a familiar way.”
That earns me a reluctant smile.
The sky darkens fully not long after, stars emerging one by one. Somewhere nearby, a group of winged cryptids launch into the air for a rehearsal flight, their silhouettes cutting graceful arcs against the night.
Boone watches them, then looks back at me. “We should stay inside the inner grounds tonight.”
I nod without argument, even though I’ve suggested a couple of times the desire to venture out a little. “Okay.”
There’s a weight behind the suggestion, an unspokenfor now, and I accept it. Whatever’s worrying him hasn’t gone away. I can feel it in the way his hand tightens briefly around mine, in the way his shoulders remain just a little too tense.
As we head back toward our assigned shelter, I catch sight of Christopher and Bob in animated discussion, lightning flickering faintly along Bob’s feathers as he gestures. The sight reassures me more than I expect.
Boone notices where I’m looking. “You did well today,” he says quietly.
I glance at him. “Did I pass some kind of test?”
“Several,” he replies. “You didn’t run. You didn’t freeze. You didn’t pretend you weren’t overwhelmed.”
“Those are… oddly specific criteria.”
“They matter,” he says simply.
We reach the edge of the quieter area, where the noise of the festival softens into a distant hum. The air feels calmer here, layered with wards and intention.
I stop walking near a rock, and Boone turns, immediately alert. “What is it?”
I step onto the rock so we’re close enough that our foreheads almost touch. “I know something’s wrong,” I say gently. “I don’t know what it is yet, and I’m okay with that—for now. But I need you to know I’m not fragile. And I’m not going to disappear if you tell me the truth when you’re ready.”
He studies my face for a long moment, searching for something. Whatever he finds there seems to steady him.
“I know,” he says at last. “I just… want to keep you safe long enough to figure out how to explain it without scaring you.”
I smile, soft and sincere. “Good luck with that.”
A quiet laugh escapes him, surprising us both.
