Page 42 of On Tap for the Bear
Eli's quiet, weighing how much to tell me. Then he sighs. "My brother Jonah went missing six months ago. No trace, no leads, nothing. We've been searching ever since."
My throat tightens. "I didn't know."
I move to stand beside him, close enough that our shoulders almost touch. "I'm sorry you're going through this."
"Me too." He turns to look at me, and the vulnerability in his expression makes my throat ache. "I'm sorry I left like that. You had questions, and I just...”
"Ran out because your family needed you. I get it." I do get it, even if part of me wanted him to stay. Wanted answers more than I wanted to be understanding. "But I still have those questions, Eli."
"I know."
"You said you were holding something back. That it was complicated." I meet his eyes. "I'm ready to hear it. Whatever it is."
He's quiet for a moment, searching my face for something. Then he straightens. "Come with me. There's something I need to show you."
"Show me what?"
"The truth." He holds out his hand. "All of it."
I take his outstretched hand—calloused, strong, steady. This is it. The moment where I decide if I'm really all in, or if I'm going to protect myself and walk away before this gets more complicated.
Except it's already complicated. Has been since the moment I tasted his beer and felt something wake up inside me.
We walk through the woods behind the tavern, following a trail I didn't know existed. Eli's grip is firm, steadying me over roots and rocks. The forest smells like pine and earth and something else—that green, alive scent I noticed in the cellar.
"Where are we going?" I ask.
"Not far. There's a convergence point about half a mile from here." He glances back at me. "You'll feel it before you see it."
He's right. After a few more minutes, the air changes. Gets thicker somehow, charged with energy that makes my skin prickle. The trees here are older, their trunks massive and gnarled. Sunlight filters through the canopy in shafts of gold.
Eli stops in a small clearing where five trees form a rough circle. The ground between them is covered in moss that glows faintly silver-green in the shadows.
"This is one of the ley line markers," he says. "A place where the energy is strong enough to see. To feel."
I step into the circle and gasp. The pulse I felt in the cellar is here, but stronger. More insistent. It thrums through my bones, warm and welcoming and ancient.
"It's beautiful," I whisper.
"Yeah." Eli's watching me, not the clearing. "Some people can feel it more than others. You're one of them."
"Why?"
"Because the land recognizes you. Knows you belong here." He moves closer, his expression serious. "Quinn, there's more I need to tell you. About Redwood Rise. About me. About what we really are."
My pulse quickens. "Okay."
"I need you to promise you'll hear me out before you react. Before you run."
"I'm not going to run."
"You might." His jaw clenches. "What I'm about to show you—it's going to change everything. Once you know, there's no unknowing it."
Fear and excitement war in my chest. "Tell me."
Eli opens his mouth to respond, but before he can speak, the ley line pulses.
Not the gentle throb I've been feeling, but a surge that knocks the air from my lungs. The moss flares bright silver, and the trees seem to hum with power. My knees buckle.
