I clear my throat and look forward quickly.
“You’re quiet,” he says.
“I’m driving.”
“You’re thinking.”
He says it like he knows exactly what kind of thinking I’m doing, which is unfair because I’m doing my best to appear calm and collected and not like someone who has been mentally evaluating cryptid anatomy logistics for the past twenty minutes.
“Just planning ahead,” I lie.
“Mm.” His gaze lingers on me like he’s not buying it.
I grip the wheel a little harder.
Our first stop is less than an hour away—a node somewhere along the forest ridge where the Wenatchee foothills begin. Boone explained that the device there keeps flickering out because the giants who live nearby occasionally throw rocks at it when they’re annoyed.
Which raises questions I’m not sure I want answers to.
Boone told them we were coming through. No visits planned, just maintenance. Which is good because I am not ready to meet a giant. I need a day or two more of mental preparation for that.
“Turn here,” he says, tapping the dashboard lightly.
I guide us up a small path barely wide enough for the truck. “You’ve come this way before?” I ask.
He snorts. “No. Your vehicle is too slow. I usually run.”
Right. Yes. Of course he does.
We pull into a small clearing with a single metal tower rising between the trees—half technological, half… not. Part of it looks like human hardware. The rest looks like carved stone fitted with glowing runes.
“Whoa,” I breathe.
Boone huffs, climbs out of the truck, and stretches, which gives me a truly unfair view of muscles shifting under his tee.
Then, without hesitation, he pulls the fabric off.
I make a noise. A small noise. A deeply unprofessional noise.
Because Boone is… well. He’s built like a dream sculpted by someone who has strong opinions about shoulders.
“I need room,” he says, already tugging down the gray sweatpants that are far too short in the leg for him.
I think my soul leaves my body.
“Oh—oh, okay,” I say, sounding very much like someone who has never seen a naked man before. “Sure. Yes. Absolutely. I mean—do what you need. I’ll just—I’ll stand… somewhere.”
He smirks. It’s devastating.
Then he pushes the sweatpants down.
I absolutely do not squeak. Because I am an adult. A grown man.
Boone stands completely naked for two seconds—two seconds in which my brain short-circuits—and then shifts.
The change is fast but smooth, a ripple of magic and muscle that expands outward, expands upward, until?—
There he is.
