His laughter echoes beautifully off the cave walls.
I look away, because if I watch him too long, I’ll do something irrational—like lean in, or touch his face, or kiss him until we forget all about maps and Solstice deadlines.
“Three,” I continue. “You do not share anything you learn with humans outside the Network. Ever. Not with your colleagues. Not in your reports. Not with your brother.”
He sobers. “I know,” he says. “I told you—I would never put you at risk like that.”
There’s no hesitation. No doubt. Just certainty.
And that… that terrifies me more than any Shunka Pack.
Because what if he means it? What if he really is choosing this—choosing me—without realizing the weight of the decision?
I open my mouth to warn him again, but he beats me to it.
“Boone,” he says quietly, “I know what I’m doing.”
“No,” I say before I can stop myself. “You don’t.”
He blinks at the sharpness of my voice.
I force myself to soften it. A little. “You don’t know what it means to travel with me. To see my world. To be part of this. I can’t protect you from everything.” Even though I would die trying.
He considers me for a long moment.
“I don’t want you to,” he says gently. “I just want you.”
The words hit me like a blow. I look away sharply, pretending to straighten the map.
He stands and walks toward me. “I don’t mean it like—” He clears his throat. “I’m not saying I expect anything. I just… I want to be here. With you. Not because it’s safe. Or exciting. Or because it’s magical. But because being around you feels right.”
My breath catches. A dangerous, uncontrollable warmth floods my chest. “Elias,” I warn.
“I know you don’t believe this,” he says softly, “but you’re not hard to want.”
I go still. Utterly still.
He steps closer, one slow foot at a time, giving me every chance to stop him.
I don’t.
“Boone,” he murmurs, almost touching my arm, “look at me.”
I do. Of course I do.
His eyes are warm and open, steady in a way that makes my chest ache. There’s no fear there. No hesitation. He’s just… here. With me. Choosing me without flinching.
“You’re not alone anymore,” he whispers.
The words slide under my ribs and loosen a restraint I’d held for far too long. My breath shakes before I can stop it, a low, involuntary thing that I immediately resent myself for.
He sees it. Of course he does. His smile softens, all gentle reassurance and quiet certainty, and for a heartbeat, I think he’s going to say another devastatingly earnest thing that might actually finish undoing me.
Instead, his gaze drops.
Just… drops.
Slowly.