“It isn’t.”
“I’m going to take it that way anyway.”
A quiet laugh rumbles in his chest, so low I feel it more than hear it.
“Go,” he says softly. “Before I decide keeping you here is safer.”
The words send a thrill through me that I pretend not to feel.
“I’ll come back,” I hear myself say before I can second-guess it. “To check on you. If that’s… allowed.”
He studies me again, that long, weighing gaze.
“Yes,” he says eventually. “It’s allowed.”
My chest does a ridiculous little lurch. “Then I’ll see you soon, Boone.”
His name tastes familiar now, like something I’ve said a hundred times in secret.
“Soon, Elias,” he replies.
As I step out of the cave and back into the filtered sunlight of the forest, my legs feel lighter and heavier at the same time. The world around me is the same—trees, moss, birds—but everything is different.
Bigfoot is real.
He has a name.
And for reasons I don’t understand yet, he letmesee him.
I head back toward my station, heart pounding, mind racing, and one thought repeating over and over again like a drumbeat.
I am absolutely, utterly, completely doomed.
CHAPTER ELEVEN
BOONE
By the timefive days have passed, I’m fully healed and absolutely ruined.
Physically, the wound is gone. No pain, no stiffness, no weakness. If I part the fur along my ribs, there’s only a faint line of newer skin, a pale crescent that will probably be invisible by next week. Sasquatch biology does good work.
Mentally? I’m a disaster.
Because those five days have all gone more or less the same way:
Morning: I swear I’m going to stay away from Elias.
Midday: I tell myself I’m simply checking the perimeter, as any responsible forest guardian would.
Afternoon: Elias shows up at my cave with a spring in his step, a backpack full of food, and thirty-seven questions about everything.
Evening: I realize I’ve once again spent half the day hovering near him like a moth around a lantern.
It’s pathetic.
And those first hours after he helped me… the memory is a problem all on its own. The way he leaned over me, face intent, brows drawn in concentration, hands steady and gentle on myside. The way his scent surrounded me up close—clean sweat, forest air, a hint of campfire smoke in his clothes, and the unmistakable note that’s simply Elias.
I kept my breathing measured. I kept still. I didn’t lean into his touch or drag my nose along the curve of his throat. That feels like an accomplishment now.
