“Not yet,” he says.
The words are simple, but they land like an earthquake, reshaping the entire landscape of whatever this is between us.
The tight knot in my chest finally loosens. The ache I’ve been carrying around all season, shaped like a shadow in the trees and footprints in the mud, settles into a warmth that’s heavier, steadier, and terrifyingly hopeful.
I swallow past the lump in my throat. “Well,” I say, voice rough, “for what it’s worth, I don’t regret seeing you either.”
His breath hitches, so subtle that if I were anyone else, I might have missed it.
We sit like that for a few seconds—me kneeling at his side, my hand resting lightly on his thigh, though I have no idea when I even put it there, him half reclined against the stone, watching me with those molten-gold eyes.
It’s ridiculous and impossible and dangerous. It’s also the most right anything has felt in a very long time.
Outside, the forest murmurs and breathes and carries on, unaware that my entire understanding of the world has just shifted around a single name.
Boone.
The Bigfoot in front of me.
The one who fixed my solar panels.
The one who carried me through the snow.
The one who scared off hunters and got shot for his trouble.
The one who looks at me like I’m something worth risking a secret for.
I tighten the cloth one last time, make sure there’s no new bleeding, and sit back on my heels.
“You should rest,” I say gently. “Let your body do the work needed to heal properly.”
He closes his eyes for a moment, exhaling slow and deep. “I will.”
I stand, feeling suddenly unsteady on my feet. “I, uh… I should probably head back soon. Before Gladys decides to dispatch a helicopter to drag me out again.”
He opens his eyes. I swear a thought flickers across his face, bringing a brief shadow with it.
“You’ll be safe?” he asks.
It takes a moment to realize he’s not asking out of polite habit. He’s asking because he wants the answer to be yes.
“I’ll be careful,” I promise. “Will you be okay?”
He gives a small, almost reluctant nod. “I’ll heal. Faster now.”
“Good,” I say, because it’s all I can manage without my voice cracking.
There’s so much I want to ask him. How long he’s been here. How many ofhimthere are. What he’s doing with three monitors and a tangle of cables in a secret cave. Whether he canreally change shape or if that was a concussion hallucination. Whether he’s always watched me from the trees or only recently. Whether he felt this strange, magnetic pull when our eyes met.
Those questions will have to wait.
For now, there’s this: a wounded guardian of the forest, and a very overwhelmed biologist who, for some reason, can’t bring himself to be afraid.
“Thank you,” I say, meaning more than just for letting me help. “For… everything. For before. For not letting me become bear food.”
His mouth curves faintly. “You’re very bad at staying upright,” he murmurs.
“I take that as a compliment.”