Page 53 of Impawssible Magic

“I need to know. If he was controlled this whole time, if the betrayal wasn’t real—” My voice breaks. I force it steady. “I need to know the truth.”

Elio closes the folder. Reaches for another drawer. Pulls out a map—hand-drawn, detailed, showing the edges of Mistvale where the Warding Line marks the boundary between safety and wilderness.

“I’ve been tracking unusual magical signatures near the Warding Line. Suppression magic. Control spells. Old wards meant to hide rather than protect.” He points to a building at the edge of the map, where the town meets the forest. “An abandoned mill. Close enough to Mistvale for convenience, far enough from the center to avoid detection.”

“That’s where he is?”

“That’s where something is. Veren’s people spotted activity there yesterday.”

The walk to the Warding Line takes us through parts of Mistvale I haven’t explored yet.

The Hollow gives way to Ironwood Row, where shifter territory begins. The architecture changes—sturdier here, more angular. Stone and timber built to withstand bodies that sometimes forget doorframes exist. We pass The Den, where a young wolf is sweeping the porch with more enthusiasm than skill, sending clouds of dust everywhere. She freezes when she sees Aslan, then snaps to attention with a salute that makes him sigh.

“Recruit?”

“Two weeks.” He nods at her, and she visibly relaxes. “Tell Caius the patrol reports are on his desk.”

“Yes, sir!” She goes back to sweeping with renewed vigor, though I notice she’s now watching us with barely concealed curiosity.

“You have fans.”

“I have subordinates who watch too many military dramas.”

The farther we walk, the sparser the buildings become. Gardens give way to wild growth. Fairy lights disappear from lampposts. The cobblestones give way to packed earth, then gravel, then dirt paths worn through tall grass.

Aslan moves beside me with the easy alertness of a predator in his element. The path narrows and we walk close enough that our arms touch. Neither of us adjusts.

“You’re quiet.” I break the silence because someone has to. Because the thoughts spinning through my head are too loud to bear alone.

“Processing.”

“Processing what?”

He glances at me. “How angry you must be.”

“I’m not—” I stop. Start again. “Okay, I’m furious. And it was all because ancient assholes decided I was too dangerous to exist.”

“You are dangerous.”

I blink. “Excuse me?”

His mouth curves—warm, unexpected. “Your potential. The fact that you survived exile without a familiar. The way you’ve rebuilt your magic through sheer stubbornness.” He looks ahead, toward the thinning trees at the edge of town. “The Preservers are right to fear you. They’re just wrong about what to do about it.”

“That’s either the nicest or most terrifying compliment I’ve ever received.”

“It’s both.” He looks away and clears his throat. “There’s something I should tell you.” Aslan’s voice is quiet. “About what’s happening between us.”

My heart stutters. “What about it?”

“I can sense where you are. Not what you’re thinking. Not what you’re feeling. Just—location. Direction. Whether you’re close or far.” He looks at me. “I’ve been trying to ignore it. Pretend it isn’t real. But after what Elio said⁠—”

“About mate potential?”

“About witch-shifter pairings being real. Being possible.” He stops walking. Turns to face me fully. “I’m not fighting it anymore, Leire. Whatever this is, whatever it becomes—I’m not running from it.”

The declaration hangs between us. Heavy with meaning.

“The building should be just ahead.” He changes the subject before I can respond—before I can figure out how to respond. “I smell old magic. Suppression spells, like Elio described.”