Page 73 of Impawssible Magic

“That’s why I’m still standing here.” My voice is rough. “Because wherever you are is where I want to be. Because my tiger chose you, and I’m finally smart enough to agree with him. Because losing you would break me in ways I didn’t think I could still be broken.”

“Shadow’s still recovering at Anouk’s.” She glances at the ruined shop. “We can’t stay here tonight.”

“Come home with me.”

The words surprise us both. I don’t bring people to my cabin. Haven’t in years. But the thought of letting her out of my sight right now, of being anywhere she isn’t⁠—

“Your place?” Her eyebrows lift. “The mysterious tiger lair no one’s allowed to see?”

“It’s not mysterious. It’s just private.”

“Same thing in Mistvale.” But she’s smiling. Tired and battered and still smiling. “Okay. Take me home.”

Home.

I like the way that sounds in her voice. Like it’s already true. Like wherever we go, as long as we go there with each other, it counts.

The night has fully fallen, and Mistvale is settling into its evening rhythms around us—lamplight in windows, music from somewhere distant, the town oblivious to the war fought at its edge. Sunny Clearwater calls out a cheerful “Stay safe, you two!” as we pass the bakery, and the irony nearly makes me laugh.

Give it an hour. Maybe less.

The mist swirls golden around our feet, and I remember what Grandmother Peach said about it being particular.

Maybe it was. Maybe it’s been guiding us toward each other since Leire first set foot in Mistvale. Maybe the magic in this town knows secrets we’re only beginning to understand.

Or maybe it’s simpler than that. Maybe two broken people found each other and decided to be whole.

The battle isn’t over. The Preservers are bigger than one local cell, and the conspiracy that drove Leire from her home is older than Mistvale itself. There will be more fights. More danger. More moments when everything hangs in the balance.

But right now, in this golden evening with her hand in mine and her shoulder pressed against my arm, none of that matters.

NINETEEN

LEIRE

Aslan’s cabin is nothing like I expected.

I don’t know what I imagined—an empty space, maybe. Functional and cold, stripped of anything personal. A predator’s den where comfort came second to practicality. Taxidermied deer heads. A single folding chair. Maybe a shrine to protein powder.

Instead, I find warmth.

The cabin sits at the edge of tiger territory, nestled against the base of the Thornback Mountains where the wild magic runs strongest. Dark timber walls rise from a foundation of river stone. Moss grows on the roof in patches of deep green. A garden—an actual garden with herbs and late-blooming flowers—borders the path to the front door.

“You have a garden.” The words come out wondering.

“Dorothea started it, a long time ago. Different soil now, but I couldn’t let it die—kept cuttings when I moved, kept the ones that would take root twice.” His hand tightens briefly on mine, then relaxes.

He says her name without flinching. Progress.

The inside surprises me more. Bookshelves line one wall, crammed with volumes in no apparent order—histories and fiction and what looks like an entire section on botanical magic. A massive stone fireplace dominates the main room, cold now but surrounded by furniture that actually looks comfortable. A leather couch worn soft from use. Chairs with blankets draped over their arms. A kitchen visible through an archway, clean but clearly used.

This isn’t a place someone passes through. This is a home.

“It’s not what I expected.”

He moves through the space, lighting lamps, coaxing the fire to life with practiced efficiency. “What did you expect?”

“Less... cozy. Maybe a collection of enemy skulls?”