Page 28 of The Mountain Man's Curvy Trick-or-Treat

As if reading my thoughts, the universe answers with a new sight to behold.

“Everett?” I call, shading my eyes.

He’s down by the solar array, shirt off, skin catching the light in that quiet, impossible way he does when he’s content. Then I see what’s moving toward him. Something so massive my brain trips over itself trying to explain it.

A man—and beside him,nota man.

The creature walks with a slow, deliberate grace, fur shining like wet bark, eyes molten gold. The air around it bends, as if it can’t quite decide whether it belongs to this world or another.

Holy hell,I think.Bigfoot’s real.

Everett’s voice brushes my thoughts, amused.

He prefers “guardian.”

He?I whisper back mentally.You’re telling me that thing has pronouns?

His laugh hums through my chest, warm and teasing.He’s one of Torin’s protectors.

The man beside the creature—Torin, I realize—moves like a storm contained in human skin. Broader than Everett, darker eyes, that same faint glow beneath the surface. He pauses at the treeline, studying the cabin, then me.

Everett calls, “You always did have a flair for the dramatic.”

Even from here, his presence feels heavier, older—the kind of gravity that bends both light and loyalty.

Torin’s mouth curves. “And you, brother, still surround yourself with machines.”

Everett glances toward the shadows where the reprogrammed constructs stand sentinel. “They’re hardly civilized.”

Torin’s brow arches. “I could say the same about humans.”

My pulse flutters. I can’t tell if he’s joking.

Everett smiles, resonance stirring faintly between us. “Then you must meet my mate. Eden will make you believe in humans?—”

He looks back at me, light sparking in his eyes. “—or at least in what they make you feel.”

Torin studies me for a long, unreadable moment, the giant beside him shifting, translucent veins flickering with alien light.

“Perhaps,” Torin says at last. “Perhaps that’s why I’m here.”

The dragonfly lands on the railing beside me, wings catching the sun in a prism of color. Somewhere beneath the hum of morning, I swear the whole mountain sighs—alive, listening, waiting for what comes next.

For a long moment, the three of them stand in the sunlight—Everett, Torin, and the impossible creature—while the air hums with power I can almost taste. Rook buzzes a slow circle above their heads, catching the glint of morning light like a blessing.

I lean against the porch post, heart thudding, trying to take in the sight before me.

A week ago, I thought Bigfoot was a meme and aliens were tabloid headlines.

Now one of them sleeps in my bed, another walks out of legend, and the mountain itself feels alive under my feet.

I used to think the stars were something far away.

But now I know they’ve been watching all along.

And maybe, just maybe, they’ve come home.

The air tastes faintly of ozone and cinnamon, the scent of magic and morning colliding.

The invisible field shimmers once around the cabin, as if acknowledging the new arrivals, then settles again into stillness.

Later that night,the stars hum again. And somewhere between dreams, Everett keeps a promise no human ear was meant to hear.