“I will,” I promise, even as excitement and disbelief war inside my chest. Maybe I simply imagined seeing Milo. It makes no sense for him to be here.
Then again, I suppose the same is true of me.
As I walk away, weaving through the quiet morning remnants of the festival, my thoughts drift back—unwillingly—to the Shade. To the sorrow in its eyes. To the way its presence had softened when it saw Boone with me.
Walkers without roots.
I don’t know what the future holds for it. Or for Boone and me, for that matter. But as I scan the crowd for a familiar shock of hair and a camera slung over a shoulder, one thing settles firmly in my chest.
Whatever happens next, I’m not walking it alone. And somehow, that makes all the difference.
CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE
BOONE
The meetingwith Bob and the Shade lasts longer than I expect.
Not because of conflict—there is none—but because sorrow takes time to navigate when it’s never been named properly before.
The Shade doesn’t resist the terms. That, more than anything, unsettles me. It listens as Bob lays out the boundaries clearly: The wards are not to be tested again, not directly or indirectly; no contact with Elias without consent; no proximity to Solstice gatherings without invitation. In return, the Network willnothunt it, will not treat it as an intruder by default, and—after the festivities—will help it find neutral ground where it can exist without fracturing the land or drawing unnecessary attention.
A place between places.
The Shade doesn’t thank us. It doesn’t apologize. It simply inclines its head once, gaze distant and tired, and says, “I will wait.”
Bob watches it go with a frown. “It’s not lying.”
“No,” I agree. “It’s just… empty.”
“Empty things can still be dangerous,” Bob replies. “But loneliness makes fools of us all.”
I leave him drafting reports and warnings for the wider Network, my thoughts already pulling me back toward Elias. Toward the quiet certainty of his presence. Toward the ache that has settled in my chest since last night—not fear this time, but want. Want for time. For shared mornings. For the impossible simplicity of choosing each other without consequence.
As I make my way through the thinning festival grounds, another thought gnaws at me.
Milo.
If Elias truly saw his brother here—insidethe wards—that means something fundamental has already shifted. Humans do not stumble into this place by accident. They don’t cross thresholds like this unless they’re invited, protected, or already known.
Hope sparks sharp and sudden in my chest.
If Milo is here, if he knows—then Elias would not be alone in understanding this world. Would not be by himself balancing wonder with fear, loyalty with loss. And if the rumors I picked up this morning are even half true, if Milo’s path has crossed with Calder’s is anything more than passing?—
I stop myself.
Speculation helps no one. Not yet.
I find Elias back at our accommodation, sunlight slanting in through the trees, his bag open on the bed as he sorts through gear with methodical focus. The sight hits me harder than expected.
He looks like he’s almost ready.
“Hey,” I say softly.
He turns immediately, relief flashing across his face before he schools it into a smile. “Hey. You’re back.”
I cross the space between us in three strides and kiss him slowly, grounding us, trying to reassure us both. He melts into it easily, hands curling into my arm fur.
“You okay?” he asks when we part.
