“She wants check-ins,” I add. “Location pings. Proof of life. I told her I’d keep the satellite phone on. Which I will. As much as I can without broadcasting you to every tower on the grid.”
“We can route some of it through the Network,” he says. “Piggyback signals. Make it look like you’re… more boring than you are.”
“That sounds ideal,” I say. “The more boring I seem, the better for everyone.”
“Hard to make you boring,” he says absentmindedly, then looks startled at himself.
I grin. “Aw. Was that a compliment?”
“Don’t get used to it,” he mutters.
“I intend to,” I say serenely.
We start walking together, not quite in the direction of my station and not quite toward his cave, skirting along a path that’s become ours by habit. The underbrush parts easier where we’ve walked it before. The forest feels more familiar. More like home.
“I was thinking,” I say, “once we’re on the road—well, trail—you could show me some of the places you stop. The old spots. The nodes you check. Not the secret ones, obviously, but the… scenic ones.”
“That would defeat the purpose of ‘secret,’ yes,” he says dryly. “But there are places I can share. If you promise not to lick any enchanted stones.”
I snort. “My curiosity is a valuable asset.”
“It’s a hazard,” he counters.
“Agree to disagree,” I say.
He shakes his head, but I can see the smile trying to break free.
We walk in comfortable silence for a while.
The knowledge that he was jealous still sits in my chest, but not as a weapon. As a strange, sweet thing—a little raw, a little tender, but proof of something I’m not sure he’ll say out loud yet.
The knowledge that I ran to him sits next to it, equally bright.
Whatever this is, it’s not symmetrical. He has centuries of caution and solitude wrapped around his heart like bark. I have a messier, shorter history filled with people and places and leaving. We’re coming at this from different angles.
But our trajectories have aligned.
I reach for his hand. He looks down at me, surprised, then lets his fingers curl around mine, dwarfing them.
“Just so you know,” I say, “the next time you jealous-roar in earshot of rangers, I’m telling them it’s a lovesick moose.”
He snorts. “They will never believe you.”
“Gladys might,” I say. “She’s seen weirder.”
He squeezes my hand once. “You are trouble,” he says.
“Right back at you,” I reply.
We keep walking, fingers twined, the echo of his jealousy and my joy weaving together into what feels suspiciously like the beginning of a shared life—messy, complicated, and absolutely, gloriously worth it.
CHAPTER FIFTEEN
BOONE
It’sastonishing how much trouble one human can introduce into a perfectly organized life.
For the past few days, I’ve been pretending everything is normal. That I’m not thinking about Elias every third breath. That I’m not listening for him even in my sleep. That my body doesn’t react to his scent with a fierce, infuriating tenderness.
